Brother's Keeper
by wordybirds
Summary: The unexpected arrival of a prisoner at Stalag 13 causes complications and a possible loss for the operation.
1. Double Vision

**No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Text and original characters copyright wordybirds. Thanks.**

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**Chapter One**

**Double Vision**

"What seems to be the problem, Colonel?"

Colonel Robert Hogan pinched the bridge of his nose, then slowly rubbed his eyes. "Tell me I'm not seeing what I think I'm seeing."

The young man standing before the US Army Air Corps officer raised an eyebrow, lightly ran his fingers across the beard he'd developed in the last week, and frowned. "I realize I'm not at my best at the moment, sir, but judging from the looks I've been getting since I was brought in here, I must be rather frightful." He shook his head. "If I might have the loan of a bit of soap and a razor, I'll see what I can do about it."

"And that accent. It _can't_ be." The American shook his head and finally looked back at the Englishman. Slowly, as if afraid to hear the answer, Hogan asked, "What's your name, soldier?"

The Englishman smiled. "Squadron Leader Tristan Newkirk, sir. I hope you'll pardon that I don't stand to attention, but the Sergeant here," he nodded at Stalag 13's medic, Joe Wilson, "has already threatened to find his dullest needle and use it on me if I don't cooperate."

Hogan could only stare, then glanced over at Wilson and back to the Englishman. "Newkirk, you said? Squadron Leader _Newkirk_?"

Tristan nodded, his smile fading, only to be replaced by a certain stubborn look growing in his brilliant green eyes. "Yes, sir. Is there a problem, Colonel?"

Hogan exchanged a hopeless look with the medic. "Problem?" he gulped finally. "No, no, Newkirk... no problem. Just...didn't expect you to be so—uh... to show up here today."

"Quite frankly, Colonel, neither did I. Except I got shot down a week ago and had been on the run from the Jerries ever since. I'd rather planned to be well on my way to the coast by now, but the truck I'd stolen from a farmhouse ran out of petrol about ten miles down the road. I'd just started walking again when I was picked up by a patrol." Tristan shrugged. "We had a slight disagreement at first, but then they convinced me to accompany them here... wherever here is."

Hogan cleared his throat and shook himself to get past his amazement. "'Here' is Stalag 13. We're a small but friendly POW camp just outside Hammelburg. And in your case, you'll find it a little more familiar than most." Hogan paused. "You're getting all the stares today, Newkirk, because... because you're not the first Newkirk we've had the pleasure of meeting. Your brother Peter is here as well... He's one of the men in my barracks."

It was Tristan's turn to stare in shock as Hogan's words struck home. The Englishman couldn't find his voice for the longest moment, and when he finally did speak, it was in a choked whisper. "Peter is here? Where... where is he? When might I see him, sir?"

Hogan felt a tightening in his own throat. When was the last time these brothers had met? When was the last time Hogan had seen his _own _brother? "If I know my Newkirk—and I think I do—he's wandering around the compound, looking for something to snitch for us to use later on, bless his heart. I'll find him, and I'll bring him to you."

Tristan nodded slowly. "Thank you, sir." He looked away, bringing up a hand to rub his eyes. "That would be very much appreciated."

Hogan lowered his eyes to give this man time to bring his clearly close-to-the-surface emotions under control. _I guess neither of the Newkirks is happy about showing his feelings._ "I'll get to it right away," he said. "I gotta tell you," he added, shaking his head, "it's like staring at a twin. I'm not sure I can handle two of you; one Newkirk is a handful on his own."

"We're not twins, sir. I'm the elder by four years." Tristan shook his head, and smiled despite himself. "Am I to take it that Peter's made a bit of a nuisance of himself around here, then?"

Hogan couldn't resist a grin of his own in return. "Nuisance? Oh, I wouldn't go that far. Let's just say that the war would be a lot duller place without him. And I'd have a lot fewer gray hairs." He nodded. "You have yourself a rest; I'll bring him to you."

The Englishman nodded and picked up the faded German uniform shirt he'd been supplied with when his own uniform had been taken away to be cleaned, and carefully eased it on over some of Wilson's repair work. "I believe I'll take you up on that, sir."

Schultz walked into the infirmary, and nodded as he saw that everything seemed to be in order. "Colonel Hogan, Kommandant Klink wants you and New... the Squadron Leader in his office right away." He looked intently at the Englishman and shook his head. "I still can't believe what I'm seeing. He cannot be..." The Sergeant glanced at Hogan as if asking the Colonel to complete the statement.

Hogan didn't disappoint him. "He's not," he said flatly. "So now you _really_ have a reason to be frightened." He looked over at Tristan Newkirk and grinned lopsidedly. "Come on—time to meet the Bald Eagle. I'm afraid your rest is gonna have to wait."

Tristan raised an eyebrow as he slowly got off the exam table, his face showing both amazement and amusement at the American officer's words and at his tone. Joking with a guard and making disparaging remarks about the camp's commanding officer? "_Bald Eagle" Most interesting._ He picked up his peaked cap and settled it on his head as he got his expression back under control. "Lay on then, Colonel."

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"Kommandant, I think under the circumstances the least you can do is let the Squadron Leader here be assigned to my barracks. I can always make room for him," Hogan said, trying to talk past the gaping stare that Klink's face had not lost since Hogan and Newkirk had walked into the room.

For his part, Tristan hadn't said anything beyond the obligatory "name, rank and service number" bit. Though the walk across the compound had reminded him of just how much he ached all over, he wasn't about to show these Jerries the slightest sign of weakness. He kept his mouth shut and listened, fascinated, to the conversation between the two Colonels, paying close attention to the way that Hogan seemed able to manipulate Klink without the German being aware of it.

"Your barracks?" Klink echoed. "What do you expect to do with two of them?" he asked.

Hogan shrugged. "It'll make it easier for me to keep them out of your hair—oops. Sorry, sir. Bad taste."

Tristan barely kept himself from laughing out loud at the wisecrack from the American officer as the phrase _Bald Eagle_ flitted through his mind. He fixed his eyes on the massive blueprint of the camp that hung on the wall behind the German officer, studying it intently to keep himself from even glancing in Klink's direction. A smothered chuckle from Schultz, who was standing behind him didn't help matters at all, nor did the positively cheeky grin threatening to break out on Hogan's face. It was a close run thing, but Tristan managed it. Barely.

"Colonel Hogan, I am not here to facilitate family reunions for prisoners," Klink began, irritated.

Hogan spoke up immediately before Klink could continue. "Aw, come on, Kommandant. Are you saying that you really want to split these men up? How do you think that would look to the men, sir—they already think of you as a father figure—and to separate the sons... well, sir, that's just a punishment that no one deserves, sir. And I might add that, knowing Corporal Newkirk as I do, sir, that you'd be inviting an escape attempt, unruly activity inside the camp at all hours of the day and night—something that might ruin your perfect no-escape record, sir. And how would that look to the folks up in Berlin? Not to go over your head, sir, but if I don't speak up now for your own good, Kommandant, someone else might be dancing on your scalp—and you don't have anything up there to soften the steps!"

Tristan was just on the verge of losing his self-control when he heard Klink's annoyed spluttering and the comment back to Hogan to do whatever he wanted with the Squadron Leader, but that it would be on the Colonel's head if any problems were to result from having the two men in the same barracks. The Englishman watched from the corner of his eye as Hogan tossed off a casual salute that was answered with a much more correct one from Klink and was accompanied by a slightly drawn out "Disss-missed!"

Hogan bustled the Englishman out of the office. "Well, that's one Kraut out of the way. Let's get you back to the barracks to settle in, and I'll get Newkirk—I mean, Peter. I have a feeling I know just where he is."

The Squadron Leader nodded as he limped across the compound. "I must say, sir, that was quite a performance you gave in there. Bizarre, but brilliant, and a distinct pleasure to watch."

"'Bizarre' is a word I get a lot," Hogan answered. He slowed his step. "You sure you're all right to be out of the infirmary? You can always wait to get to _Chez_ Garbage Dump for an extra day if you need the time with Wilson."

"I'm fine, Colonel. Besides, I've had quite enough of Sergeant Wilson's attentions to last me until the end of the war, however long that turns out to be." Tristan shook his head and grinned. "I'm anxious to see my brother, of course, but I'd never hear the end of it if he found me lying on a rack in hospital."

Hogan nodded his head. "I understand. Wilson means well, but once you're with him, he doesn't tend to let go. You can stay in my room for now—you'll have the bottom bunk. Once I'm sure I'm being a gracious host, I'll go get your brother."

Hogan opened the door to Barracks Two and gestured for the Squadron Leader to enter. "Well, it's not much, but it's a hole," he introduced the place. He looked around and saw that the room was empty. He headed for the stove. "Coffee?"

Tristan looked around the room, noting the cramped conditions as he took a seat at the table in the center of the room. "Yes, thanks. So, how have you been getting on with Peter? I know he can be a bit much at times." He smiled, well aware of the irony in his words.

Hogan didn't miss it. He poured two cups of coffee and handed one to Tristan. "Newkirk is quite a character, I'll admit that," Hogan said with a smile. Tristan nodded his thanks for the drink. "Stalag 13 can be an _interesting_ place to be, thanks to him."

"I can imagine." The Englishman took a sip of the bitter brew that was pretending to be coffee and grimaced at the taste. "You Yanks and your coffee. Still, it'll do to wake one up first thing, I suppose." Tristan glanced at Hogan and smiled to take the sting from his words.

"I don't call this coffee; I call it sawdust and acorns. But give it a couple of months and this will taste like mother's milk."

"Right, it seems that I'll have time to get used to it." Tristan sighed and studied the contents of his cup. He remained silent for a moment, then visibly pulled himself together and looked up at Hogan. "All right, Colonel. Where do I fit into things here? The Kommandant indicated that you are the senior POW officer; so who is the senior British officer then?"

"Senior—?" Hogan stopped. "Uh... I don't think you've got a full picture of Stalag 13 yet, Newkirk," he said thoughtfully. "This is an enlisted man's camp. I'm not just the senior POW officer for the Americans. I'm the only officer, _period_." Hogan paused as he considered his own situation, and grew quiet.

The Squadron Leader studied the Colonel thoughtfully, and the image of the blueprint came into his mind. _I saw at least fifty barracks noted there, and if this particular one is typical, that's at least... nine hundred men incarcerated here. And he's the **only** officer. Bloody hell._ "Sounds as though you're in need of an adjutant. It's been a while since I filled that role, but I believe I remember how, sir."

Hogan laughed a short, almost humorless laugh through his nose. "Thanks, but I think I have the pattern down now. I figure I won't need a barber by the time I'm fifty. My hair with either be gray or gone." He took a sip of the lukewarm brew and grimaced, then put it down. "The most important thing right now is to get you a place to call your own, and get you to see Newkirk—uh, Peter." He led the way to his quarters and opened the door. "The only privilege of rank here: my own room—and it's furthest away from the stove, so judge its usefulness for yourself when the winter really hits. You can bunk out on the bottom, better for your leg that way, and I've gotten used to being up top."

Tristan looked around the tiny room that seemed to be more office than personal quarters, then back at Hogan. "Really, sir, I don't mind bunking in with the other ranks if you wish to keep your privacy." He paused. "I admit that I'll be grateful for a lower berth for awhile, though."

Hogan shook his head. "No need. Besides, there's no room out there, and you're better off here with your brother than somewhere else. Speaking of which, I'd better go track him down before he has half the guards owing him their next pay packet."


	2. Reunion

**No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Text and original characters copyright wordybirds. Thanks.**

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**Chapter Two**

**Reunion**

Before he even opened the door, Hogan knew that Peter Newkirk would be inside Barracks 9. The Cockney voice of the Englishman carried above and beyond the rest of the ruckus emanating from within. "That's all, gentlemen, I think we've had enough for one afternoon. The rule is: it's all bets made before the first card hits the table." Hogan shook his head. Some things never changed, whether behind or outside of barbed wire... and Newkirk was one of those things.

Hogan entered the room and was immediately hit in the face by a wall of heavy smoke that almost made it impossible for him to see who was in the hut. He blinked quickly and waved a hand in front of his eyes, and decided to observe for a moment before interrupting; sometimes Newkirk was a sight to behold, and when he was running a poker game—especially one where gambling was forbidden, like in a POW camp—he was almost a pleasure to watch.

Peter didn't look up as the door opened; the man on watch would have warned them if trouble was approaching, and in any case he was busy gathering up the cards and returning the bets from the spoiled hand. "Williams, pick up your money and take a hike. This was a friendly game until you tried your tricks." The Englishman's voice had enough of an edge on it to bring silence to the room.

The rattle and snap of cards being shuffled was the only sound as the American tried to stare the Englishman down, but after a few moments, Jack Williams stood, kicking back his stool as he stuffed his money into his pocket. "I've had enough anyway. It's funny how nobody else can win when _you're_ in the game." He glared at Newkirk, then headed for the door, only to find it partially blocked by Hogan, who had been silently watching the proceedings. "If you'll excuse me, _sir_, I'd like to go get some fresh air."

Hogan arched an eyebrow but said nothing as he sidestepped to leave the doorway free. Then he watched silently as Williams stalked across the compound before turning back to the room. He took a couple of steps in as Newkirk started calling for bets again. "Uh, Newkirk—can I see you for a minute?"

Peter glanced up as Hogan spoke, caught the serious look on the Colonel's face, and put the deck onto the table. "Righto, gov'nor. Be just a tick while I gather me winnings." He turned to the other players and grinned. "Sorry, gents. I'd love to stay, but you know how officers are; whatever it is, it has to be done now." Picking up the tidy sum of cash at his place, Peter quickly tucked it into his pockets and moved away from the table to join Hogan.

"Officers always seem to get the blame for everything," Hogan said in mock lamentation. "Good thing I have broad shoulders." His eyes trailed down to Newkirk's now-bulging pocket. "You did well for yourself, I see."

"I didn't do too badly, if I do say so myself, at least until..." Letting his voice trail off, Peter pulled his side cap out from under the shoulder strap of his jacket and settled it on his head. "So what's up that you need me for, sir?"

Squinting for a second up into the sun, Hogan said, "We got a new prisoner today. Interesting character. Thought you might want to check him out for yourself."

"No sooner said than done, sir. Something about this particular bloke making you nervous then?" Peter gave Hogan a sidelong look. All new prisoners got the once-over, but for the Colonel to not only ask for him to do it personally, and to actually come and pull him out of a poker game, was enough to raise the Englishman's suspicions. "What's London had to say on him?"

"Nothing," Hogan said shortly. "I haven't talked to them yet. And no, nothing's making me nervous."

Peter shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and walked in silence for a few steps. The Colonel claimed that nothing was making him nervous, but he had yet to look directly at the Corporal while speaking. Something was definitely up here, but as usual, Hogan was keeping it to himself. "All right, gov'nor. Point him out to me and I'll go to work."

"He's in my office." Hogan stopped and thought, then turned to Newkirk. "Peter, I want you to check this fella out—but I need you to stay objective about it, and I think it's going to be pretty near impossible for you to do that."

Caught off-guard by Hogan's comment, Peter actually took an extra step before wheeling around to face him. "In your office? Must be an officer then. A friend of yours, perhaps?" The Englishman paused, and shook his head. "Colonel, I can do my job, no matter what. Officer or not, friend of yours or not... I'll check him out and do it right."

Hogan exhaled loudly. "He _is _an officer, but he's not my friend, Newkirk. I've never seen him before today. But _you_ grew up with him, and your preconceived knowledge of him can't allow us to let down our guard, no matter how certain you want to be of his innocence."

The blood drained from Peter's face as he put two and two together. Most of the lads he'd grown up with had joined the service after Hitler's attack on their homeland, but there was only _one _from his old neighborhood that had ever become an officer. He stared at Hogan, not wanting to believe what he was thinking. "_Tristan_?" he whispered. "Please, Colonel...is it my brother?"

Hogan nodded, Newkirk's reaction making him ashamed that he could not tell the Corporal before now. "Yeah," he answered. "It's Tristan." A pause. "I brought him to my quarters so you two could have some time without anyone else... you know." Hogan looked toward the Kommandant's office and, uncomfortable about intruding on what would clearly be a deeply personal moment, he concocted a viable reason to disappear. "I've gotta go see Klink about a... about your brother's internment interview and then... go break up the game in Barracks Nine before one of the more rigid guards notices. Why don't you come get me when you're done?"

Peter nodded, though he really couldn't hear Hogan's words through the fog that had taken over his thoughts. Turning away from the American, his first few steps were slow and stumbling until he suddenly broke into a run for Barracks Two. Reaching the hut, he braced himself against the outer wall, taking several deep, shuddering breaths before roughly scrubbing his sleeve over his eyes. The Englishman didn't move for the longest moment, then he straightened up, tugged down the hem of his jacket and went into the barracks.

After a quick glance around the empty barracks, Peter went to Hogan's room and knocked softly. Hearing a muffled "Come in," he eased the door open and stepped inside. The sight of the slender, dark-haired man leaning against the wall near the window made Peter stop dead in his tracks. "_Tristan_," he breathed. "It... it really _is_ you."

The elder of the Newkirk brothers turned from the window and looked Peter in the eye. He had originally planned to sound bold and confident. But now, facing him, Tristan's voice caught in his throat. "Yes," he whispered back. "Never expected to be seeing you in a place like this."

"Wasn't supposed to happen like this, was it?" Peter shook his head slightly. "I thought we'd agreed that you'd be waiting on the tarmac for me when I got back to England after this whole rotten mess was done with."

Tristan swallowed hard. He was still finding it hard to believe that his little brother was standing before him. Yes, he had known that Peter was in a POW camp, but he hadn't known where he himself had ended up until he met Hogan; he could never have dared to hope to end up in the same Stalag. And yet here was Peter: a bit worse for wear, a bit thinner than he remembered, but undeniably the same tagalong whom he had gotten so used to having around. And the same seemingly unemotional, unaffected boy who always tried to hide his feelings. It was something Tristan had probably taught Peter himself, out of necessity, when they were growing up. But now, for some reason, Tristan was finding it almost too difficult to manage on his part. "I always thought so," he shrugged. He drew in a breath and tried to calm his fast-beating heart. "How are you, Peter?"

"All right. But you look a bit knocked about, brother." Peter's eyes traveled over his brother's body, taking note of the changes since the last time they'd seen each other. Always the thinner of the two, Tristan was positively lean now, and his face seemed to carry permanent fatigue lines in addition to the touches of gray coming into his hair. No surprise, really, when Peter considered the incredible stress of nearly four years of constant night flying combined with Tristan's role as a squadron commander. "Has Sergeant Wilson had a go at you yet?"

Tristan stiffened a little bit as he tried to stretch muscles still sore from overuse in the last week. "He has," he answered. "And your Colonel Hogan, I think he was planning to send me back there again, too, but I'm fine enough as I am for the moment." He paused. "You're looking a little thinner than I remember. The food no good here for you, huh?" he asked softly.

"The Colonel's a fine china, he is. Makes sure Wilson gets a crack at everyone, even if he goes on the dodge himself when it's his turn." Peter smiled a bit, thinking of how they all took their turn at avoiding Wilson's attentions whenever possible. "As for the food," he shrugged, "it's rather on the plain side, and you'll soon develop a taste for sawdust, but at least we're not shorted on it very often, unlike a lot of other camps. Then there are the Red Cross packages, and I get some of the things you and the girls have sent from home, and that's all helped out a lot." Peter sighed. "We all share whatever we have, and we're lucky enough to have a real French chef in the barracks, but don't tell him I said that, right?"

One side of Tristan's lips curled up in a smile. "Sure," he said. "I never give a Frenchie a break anyway." His smile lingered absentmindedly for a moment as he continued to stare at his brother. Finally, he said softly, "It's good to see you, Peter."

"Tris..." The younger of the two men couldn't hold back any longer, and he started across the tiny room. Peter's move drew Tristan from his place against the wall, and meeting each other halfway, the brothers fell into a tight embrace, neither of them trying to restrain their joy at seeing each other alive and well.

Tristan breathed deeply as he gripped tightly to his brother's worn uniform, feeling the warmth of the younger man's slimmer frame, seeing in his mind's eye all the things the pair of them used to do when they were younger, lighter of heart, less burdened with the cares of the world. He had expected to be overwhelmed. But he had not expected the level of joy that he now felt just knowing that Peter was safe and unharmed. Finally he let go of the moment and drew Peter away from him. "You haven't changed—still can't do justice to the uniform," he said, almost roughly, trying to hide any emotion he had let slip onto his face. "Straighten that jacket, Corporal."

Peter stepped back and shook his head. "Haven't changed either, have you? Always trying to tell me how to dress." Despite himself, he tugged his jacket into place and swept the cap off his head before his brother could comment on it as well. After tucking the cap into its usual place under the shoulder strap of his jacket, the Corporal drew himself to such a perfect "attention" pose and said, "Ready for inspection, sir!" Though his words were correct, his tone made a subtle mockery of the whole affair, and the grin that was trying to come out put paid to the idea that he was at all serious about any of it.

Tristan shook his head, grateful for Peter's mocking sense of humor that firmly put his own emotions back where they belonged—inside. "Forget it," he said. "I don't think there'd be any hope of reforming you anyway." He finally took a good look around him and surveyed Hogan's office. The time he had been in here earlier was all spent thinking about seeing his brother. He saw the spartan furnishings, the cut-outs of women tacked up on the walls, the worn Bible sitting on the desk. "You're taking orders from a Yank now," he mused. "How are you handling it?"

"Well enough, actually." Peter hooked a nearby chair with his foot, pulling it out and waving Tristan to a seat on the lower bunk. He turned the chair around and settled onto it, crossing his arms over the back as he continued. "The gov'nor goes out of his way to take care of us the best he can, and not once has he ever tried to lord it over the other ranks. He eats the same food as the rest of us, and other than this room to himself, he lives under the same conditions as everyone else." Peter went silent as he thought about life at the camp before Hogan had arrived. "We went a long time here without anyone to speak up for us, Tris, and the officer we had before him wasn't worth spitting on. But the Colonel... he's the real thing in every way, and there's not one of us that wouldn't follow him straight into Hell."

"Sounds too good to be true. You sure he's not a Kraut in disguise?"

Peter's eyes narrowed for just a moment, giving his brother a long look. "I'm gonna forgive you that remark, Tristan, seeing as you're new here. But don't _ever_ make a remark like that about Colonel Hogan again." Suddenly getting to his feet, Peter went to the window and stared out across the compound as he fought down the surge of anger raised by Tristan's comment. Finally, he let out a long sigh, though he didn't turn to face his brother as he quietly spoke. "Look, Tris... I'm sorry about coming on so hard like that, but the gov'nor is the last man anyone could ever accuse of being a Kraut. He's paid far too much in blood and pain to ever go over to their side."

Tristan raised an eyebrow and frowned thoughtfully as he looked at his brother intently. He had only been kidding about Hogan, but the way the comment got a rise out of Peter gave him pause. Somehow, Hogan must have proved his worth to the Corporal—Tristan knew it would take a lot more than rank to gain his brother's respect, and the loyalty he was showing to the American Colonel now would not have been easily given. It raised his respect for both men. "No offense intended, Peter," he said quietly, not mockingly. "If you say he's for real, then he's for real. He seems pleasant enough, anyway, despite whatever he's been through… the _gov'nor_," Tristan added, noting the significant way his brother had referred to Hogan. No one had been called _the gov'nor_ by Peter for years. Because no one had ever, in his estimation, earned the title. "The Jerries give him a hard time, did they?"

"They did," Peter said quietly. "And they still do." He turned to face his brother, leaning against the wall in the narrow space between the window and the bunks, his thumbs tucked into the pockets of his jacket. "This is a Stalag Luft, an enlisted men's camp. You'll get the non-commissioned ranks here, but _never_ a senior officer like Hogan. They've marked him down for special treatment ever since he got here as well, and every so often the Gestapo drops by and invites him for a chat, and it's not exactly high tea they take him to." Peter shook his head. "Though what they think the Colonel would know that'd be of any military importance by now is beyond anyone's guess."

The youngest Newkirk sighed and fixed his gaze on one of the pin-up cards stuck on the wall near the office door. He wanted so badly to be able to tell his brother the truth about what was really going on at Stalag 13, but he knew he had to keep silent until Hogan gave the go-ahead. He was keeping his silence on another truth as well; the fact that Tristan was a Squadron Leader meant that his days at this particular camp were numbered. Once Berlin had been notified that a British officer was being kept at this particular POW camp, orders would be sent that would transfer Tristan to one of the Oflags. When that happened, the brothers would have no hope of seeing each other until the end of the war. As far as Peter was concerned, his brother wasn't going to sit the war out in a prison camp. And given the nature of the secret operation that he was part of, there was quite a lot that he could do to keep that from happening.

"Who knows why Jerry does what he does. If Hogan was a threat to them in the air, it could simply be punitive, you know. I wouldn't put it past them." Tristan paused. "An enlisted man's camp, you say." He let the words hang between him and his brother. "So what you're saying is, Hogan aside, the chance of an officer staying here is very slim."

"We do get the odd Leftenant in here, but even they seldom stay more than a week before they're sent on. With you being a Squadron Leader, Tris," Peter shook his head sadly, "they'll have you out of here the day the divisional messenger gets your file to Berlin. Sooner, if Klink shoots his ruddy mouth of to one of the visiting brass, or they spot you in the compound."

Tristan thought it odd that his brother would know so much about the workings of the German administration, but then figured Peter was speaking from experience and let the matter drop. "What about an escape, then?" he asked quietly. Peter had been in this camp a long time, and Tristan knew his brother would have tried to break free numerous times, as it wasn't in his nature to be cooped up for long in any one place.

"Not possible, Tris. There've been well over two hundred attempts, and not one successful escape from Stalag 13." Peter was disgusted with himself that he had to string his brother along like this, but there wasn't any choice. "In any case, the Escape Committee isn't in favor of making a try just now."

"Escape Committee? Since when does that worry you? I'm not worried about whether they're _in favor_ of it or not." Tristan lowered his voice out of habit. "I have to get some very important information back to Bomber Command. And I can't do it while I'm stuck in a POW camp."

"It ruddy well worries me when I'm on the bleedin' Escape Committee!" Peter fired back. _Right then, it's not exactly the **average** Escape Committee, and we're set up more to help the fellows from the other Stalags get back to England rather than getting clear of this one ourselves. But I can't tell him that. There's so much I want to tell him right now. Tristan's my brother, and I trust him with my life... but I can't, not until the gov'nor gives the word. _"And the Colonel's behind the 'no escape' policy one hundred percent."

Tristan raised an eyebrow and shook his head. "So maybe this Hogan isn't quite the man I thought he was. Too bad, brother, because I might have to just do things my own way. I'll leave you all out of it—wouldn't want your precious Yank Colonel to muss up his hair—but staying in this place—or any other camp—just isn't an option."

"Now see here, Tristan, just you climb down from that high horse you're on and listen close!" Peter couldn't stand still any longer, and stalked across the tiny room, only to find himself up against the door. He wheeled around to glare at his brother, hands shaking as he fought to keep control of both his temper and his voice. The temper he managed, but his voice rose as he continued. "You can't just waltz in here and run things your way, Squadron Leader. There's a damned good reason for the 'no escape' rule around here, and you'd be doing a lot more harm than good if you actually made it."

Peter took a breath, trying to get himself under control, but his brother's careless remarks had combined with his underlying anger at having to keep Tristan in the dark about the secret operation that was threatened by those very words. "Cor, Tris! There's nothing I'd like better than to see you scarper back to England straight away so you can go back to giving Jerry hell from the air, but it's just not possible. The 'no escape' rule was put in place by Colonel Hogan himself, and every man here has gone along with it. That means you'll have to as well, no matter what."

"So, your Colonel Hogan had such a hard time with the Jerries that he's not content to stay here and play house with them on his own; he wants everyone else to, as well!"

Staring at his brother in shock, it took Peter a few moments to find his voice, and when he did, he was neither quiet nor subtle about what he had to say. "The last thing any of us are doing here is playing house with the bloody Krauts! In fact, the first man that should be gettin' out of here is Colonel Hogan himself! But he chose to stay, and I've chosen to stay, too, no matter what—"

Tristan was about to explode in response to his brother's revelation that he was choosing to stay when the door to the office flew open, forcing Peter further into the room and throwing both men into temporary confusion. "Hey, hey, hey!" called Hogan over the heated voices. The Colonel raised an arm defensively as it appeared that at least one of the Newkirk brothers was ready to strike at the unexpected intrusion. He lowered his arm when they seemed to register his presence. "What's going on in here?" he demanded, irritated. "Isn't fighting the Krauts enough for you guys? You have to kill each other?"

Peter got himself together enough to face Hogan, though his entire body was shaking with barely-controlled anger. "It's nothing, Colonel. Just a bit of a disagreement between brothers is all."

Hogan could see the all too-familiar temper flaring in the Corporal's eyes, and it was disconcerting to see the expression repeated in the Squadron Leader's as well, even as the elder brother quickly got himself under control. "My apologies, sir. It won't happen again." Though the man's words were correct, the Colonel got a feeling of disdain in Tristan's words. "If you'll excuse me, sir, I'd like some air."

Hogan nodded and watched the elder Newkirk left the room stiffly. Then he turned to Peter, who was finding it impossible to stand still. "Newkirk, what the hell is going on? That wasn't a disagreement—that was going to turn into a bloodbath!"

Peter's eyes grew distant as he straightened, though not quite to standing at attention, and stared at a point just beyond Hogan's left shoulder. "It was nothing, sir."

Hogan caught himself before he snorted his disbelief. "Hardly," he said. "But it's not my place to force brothers to get along." He paused. "I'm sorry I had to ask you to check him out, but you more than anyone else would know if he's putting on airs. What did you find out?"

"He wants to escape, Colonel. Rather insistent on it, I might add, and he didn't take too well to hearing the 'no escape' rule, either." Peter paused, then continued quietly. "That's what we were on about when you came in. Well, that and..." He shook his head. "Despite what just went on in here, sir, I've got no reason to believe that Tristan's a security risk."

"He wants to escape," Hogan repeated. "That's just great. Well, if he's not able to be stopped, we'll have to arrange for his escape from... somewhere else. He's not likely to be kept here for long anyway. After all, he's an officer, and he..." Hogan's voice softened as the circumstances reminded him that he was being kept here for reasons that the Nazis had made quite clear—to isolate him. _Little do they know_, he tried to console himself; "... he belongs in an Oflag with other officers." He let out a breath. "Well, at least he's not a security risk. And if you think you can get along with him long enough to keep your hands from around his neck, then we're going to have to tell him what's going on or he'll expect you to go with him. That's what this was about, wasn't it? He'd never understand you agreeing with the no-escape clause?"

Peter nodded slowly. "He's no more able to take being locked up than I am, gov'nor. It's been that way for both of us since..." The Englishman took a couple of steps away from Hogan as he fell silent. The silence grew as he stared out the window, and it was a long moment before Peter took a deep breath and turned back to face his commanding officer. "Right. I'll go get him, then, if you're ready to give him the grand tour."

Hogan caught the Corporal's arm as he passed him to leave. "Wait a minute." Newkirk stopped and just looked at Hogan questioningly. "You're sure you can handle this? I can do it on my own if you don't think you can."

"I... take it you heard what was said, Colonel?" Peter sighed, then met Hogan's gaze with his own. "I'd like to apologize for my brother, sir. He doesn't know the score yet, but he'll come round once he's found out what's at stake. Tristan's a good man, gov'nor, I promise you that."

Hogan nodded. He had indeed heard Tristan's words, and even though he knew they were spoken in ignorance, they stung nonetheless. But any doubts he had about making the camp escape-free had to be put aside for the moment while he dealt with what could turn out to be a crucial moment for one of his men. Now that Peter had seen his brother, and knew that they had to get him out, how interested in staying behind would the Corporal be? "You don't have to apologize for him. He's from the same stock as you—hot-headed, and loyal to king and country." Hogan paused, considering his next statement. It was almost impossible to voice, and yet he knew it was something he had to say. "Newkirk—when we help him to escape, if you want to go with him..." Hogan swallowed. "...I'll arrange it."

"Blimey, gov'nor," Peter whispered, stunned by the generous offer Hogan was making. "I don't know what to say, sir. I... I'll have to think about it." The Englishman swallowed hard, then visibly pulled himself together before moving past the Colonel and into the common room of the barracks.

Hogan felt his heart splash into his stomach. Though he knew there was a good possibility that Newkirk would take him up on his offer, a small part of him had to admit he was still hoping that the Englishman would simply have nixed the whole idea in the blink of an eye. That clearly hadn't happened, and Tristan's appearance obviously had Peter thinking of home, and the chances that other, ordinary prisoners of war had to escape and try to get back home to fight another day. Hogan watched as Newkirk picked up the kettle, but followed only from a distance. He glanced around the common room; still empty. "Don't think too long," he said in a voice that didn't sound nearly as strong as he'd intended. "We're going to have to act fast if we want you two to be able to get out together. Otherwise it's two separate operations, and I'd rather you be in each other's company than on your own. I'm sure you could look out for each other better than anyone else could."

"Two separate operations put too many people at risk, Colonel. I can't ask anyone to do that for me, not just so that I can go home." Peter shook the tea kettle experimentally, frowned, then set it back on the small table near the stove. He then pulled his cap free of the shoulder strap and put it on. "Why don't I go find my errant brother and get this whole thing sorted." The comment clearly wasn't a question, and the Corporal turned and left the barracks before Hogan had time to reply.

Hogan brought his hands up to his face and closed his eyes to think. _Just a simple yes or no, Peter... just put me out of my misery sooner rather than later_. With a sigh, he turned back to his office, and shut the door behind him.


	3. Ante Up

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text and original characters belongs to wordybirds… thanks.

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Tristan walked slowly around what he thought was an exercise yard, as there were several groups of men playing various games, all of them with enthusiastic spectators. For the Squadron Leader, there was a certain sense of unreality to the entire affair; he'd just been reunited with his long-lost brother, and the first thing they'd done was get into an argument. _There's something not right here. The Kraut in charge is a blustering fool, the guards on patrol are quite casual and some of them are even chatting with the prisoners, these men seem in good spirits... yet there's an order in place forbidding escape._ He sighed and shook his head. _Ever since we were lads, Peter's not been able to handle being locked up, but he's going along with the order. Not only that, he was right quick about defending this Colonel Hogan to me, and I have to admit, there's something about the man, given that performance he put on with the Kommandant, but I just can't quite pin it down._

A voice from behind him stopped Tristan mid-thought. "Hey, Newkirk!" The Englishman turned around to see a slim young American almost bouncing toward him. "Hey," the young man said again, once he was close to Newkirk, "you know the Colonel's gonna skin you alive if he catches you out in disguise in the middle of camp. I mean you know how he feels about us putting ourselves on display unless we have to—and—" The young man stopped suddenly, as though struck by an unexpected thought. "Gee, are you wearing lifts in those boots? I mean you're not usually this tall—I didn't think we were using those, because it makes it harder to run in if we have to beat it out of Gestapo Headquarters or something." The young man grinned as Newkirk continued to simply watch and listen. "Still, it looks like fun. Mind if I borrow them when you're done? I'll use them in the tunnel though—won't take a chance on Colonel Hogan yelling at me—you're really bold, Newkirk."

Raising an eyebrow at the seemingly incessant stream of words, Tristan waited until the young man wound down before even trying to reply. _What is this man on about? Gestapo Headquarters? Tunnels? Disguises? It's clear he thinks I'm Peter; perhaps I can string him along and find out what's going on around here._ He shrugged a little, and smiled. "Thought I'd give it a go and see how it went, but you might be right. Want to help me change out, then?"

"Hey, you changed your voice, too! Gee, Peter, you've really been working hard! C'mon, let's go show Kinch!"

"All right. Lead on." _This could get a bit sticky, but I've got to try and find a way out of here. If there is a tunnel... well, have to see how things shape up first._ Tristan nodded and gestured for the Sergeant to go ahead. "Let's go show Kinch."

Carter turned and started leading the way toward the barracks when he stopped short in his step. Suddenly in front of him, coming toward him, he was sure... was Newkirk! And yet behind him... was Newkirk... wasn't it? Carter turned back to his companion. "Newkirk?" he said questioningly.

Tristan shrugged. "Yes," he answered. "But not the one you apparently think I am."

Two identical sets of green eyes stared at each other as Carter watched in confusion. "We used to do this sort of then when we were boys, Tris, but now's not the time for playing games." Peter turned to Carter and sighed softly. "Look, Andrew, this is my older brother Tristan. It's all right for him to be here, but not for him to pull a fast one on you, mate. I'll sort him later on that, but right now, he's wanted in the Colonel's office for a bit of a chat." He paused, then put his hand on Carter's shoulder, leaning a little toward the Sergeant as he spoke. "Do me a favor, then, and don't mention this to anyone just yet, right?"

Carter just looked from one Newkirk to the other, confusion still holding its place on his face. "Sure, Newkirk—I mean, Peter." He stared at Tristan for a minute, then back at Peter, and backed away. "I'll just... uh... I'll go get the laundry. My day for folding." And he turned and took off, a frown still creasing his brow, but a bit of wonder mixing in.

Peter turned to his brother, giving him a hard look. "That was pretty low, playing a trick on Carter that way." A few steps later, Peter sighed and put out his hand to stop his brother. "I'm sorry, Tristan. I don't mean to sound the way I do, it's just that—"

"I know," Tristan cut in. "I suppose I've been something of an arse, haven't I? All I can say is I'm sorry. Put it down to being a bit short on sleep these past few days, what with trying to get back to London and all. That, and the shock of seeing you after all this time... Can you forgive your big brother, Peter, so that we can hopefully enjoy what little time we're going to have together before Jerry sees fit to separate us again?"

A smile of relief came onto the younger man's face as he listened. "Always, brother. You know I've never been able to stay mad at you for long. I never expected—never wanted—to see you in a place like this, but... it _is _good to see you again, Tris."

The older brother was as relieved as the younger that they were able to put the morning's harsh words behind them, but he was surprised when Peter stopped him again just outside the barracks door. "I can forgive you for what you said to me, and I'll square things with Carter later, as I know that all you were doing was trying to get information about this place. Honestly, I'd have done the same in your position." He paused to get his next words into order. "But I can't let you off the hook for what you said about Colonel Hogan. You're dead wrong about him, Tris, and I hope it's not long before you'll be able to see that for yourself. To make matters worse, he heard most, if not all, of what was said this morning." Peter shook his head. "He'd never admit it, but you cut him deeply, brother, and I can't forgive you for that. Not until he does."

Tristan's smile faded thoughtfully as he listened to his younger brother's words. That his emotions and loyalties were apparently so deeply tied to this American officer was more than a surprise to the Squadron Leader. There was something binding those two men together—something strong enough to bring out Peter's sense of protectiveness. It was something Tristan had not witnessed in his brother in a long time, and he wondered what it was that Hogan could have done to draw Peter close to him. Perhaps he had been wrong about the Colonel. But he didn't know why, and he didn't know if he would ever find out. "I'm sorry, Peter," he said now, quietly. "I guess I don't know anything about this Colonel Hogan of yours." He paused. "I do want your forgiveness."

"Then listen to what the gov'nor's got to say, Tris. That's all I'm asking you to do, is listen." Then Peter went into the barracks, leaving the door open for his brother to follow.

For the longest moment, Tristan couldn't move. Whatever it was that bound Peter and Colonel Hogan together was threatening to drive him and his brother apart, but he'd been given a chance to make things right again. _I'll listen, Peter, and I'll see what your Colonel has to say._ Tristan took a deep breath and went inside.

Meanwhile, Peter had crossed the room and knocked on the door of Hogan's room. When the Colonel didn't answer right away, he frowned and knocked again. "It's Newkirk, gov'nor, and I've got Tristan out here with me."

A weary voice finally said, "Come in." Peter opened the door and saw Colonel Hogan standing near the window, his body still turned partly toward the outside. His face was almost pale, and to Newkirk he had the look of someone who hadn't slept in weeks, although he knew the Colonel had been just fine this morning. But as he entered, all Hogan said was, "Have you explained things to him?"

"No, sir." Peter shook his head. "For all his faults, Tristan's still a Newkirk, and you ought to know by now that sometimes it's easier to show us what's what rather than talk about it forever." A grin came over the Englishman's face as he went on. "Besides, I thought you might like the honor of knocking my big brother down a peg or two yourself. Cor, you've ruddy well had enough practice on me that it should be a piece of cake by now."

Hogan tried to smile but failed miserably. "You never know, you might show me a thing or two," he said. "Bring him in. We need to talk first."

Peter nodded, and beckoned his brother to follow him into the office. He took up his usual stance, leaning against the support post at the foot of the bunk bed while Tristan came in and drew himself up to stand at attention. "Squadron Leader Newkirk reporting as ordered, sir."

Hogan turned fully back into the room now and nodded minutely in the officer's direction. "It wasn't an order. But I think you and I need to have a talk." He considered the still-erect, silent officer for a moment, studied his eyes, his face, his oh-so-correct military posture, and then continued. "Your brother tells me you're anxious to leave this little paradise. Is that right?"

"I am, sir. It's important that I return to England within the next forty-eight hours."

Hogan studiously ignored the younger Newkirk standing near his bunk. For some reason he wasn't ready to reveal everything to this new man, brother or not, checked out or otherwise. There was something about him that just poked at the American—a sense of... extra caution that he couldn't help but admit might have been born of the comments he had overheard this morning. How would he react to the operation if he was told, if he was shown? It was too big a part of Hogan to be ridiculed, and though he was certain that the operation was doing immeasurable good for the Allies, the smallest doubt in Hogan's own mind about his usefulness here in a prison camp made him wary of opening himself up to this man. "What's the rush?" Hogan asked now. "You got a hot date waiting?"

Something flashed in Tristan's eyes, only to be quickly suppressed as he kept his immediate reaction to Hogan's comment to himself. As a senior officer, he knew the line the Colonel was taking; it was one he'd used many times when dealing with his own men, and he was determined not to allow this American officer to get a rise out of him. However, two could play this game.

"No, sir. It's not as you say, a 'hot date'. Nor is it simply a desire not to spend my time sitting out the war in a POW camp." Tristan paused. _My brother trusts this man, and I trust my brother, so I'll tell him at least part of it, and see how it goes._ "I've come across some important military information since I was brought down, and London must know about it soon, else I won't be the only new guest at this little paradise of yours, as you call it."

Hogan bristled, feeling the dig he had overheard this morning coming to the forefront again. But he immediately pushed the hurt out of his mind as the rest of what the man said filtered through. "At ease," Hogan said gruffly, down to business and something that he could deal with objectively at last. "Important information? What is it London needs to know?"

The Squadron Leader nodded slightly and settled into the classic "at ease" posture. "May I ask what your assignment was prior to being shot down, Colonel?"

Hogan raised an eyebrow, displeased at being interrogated by this new man. "I'm not sure you need to know that yet," he answered, shooting a look at Peter.

The Corporal frowned at his commanding officer, then turned the same look on his brother. "Blimey, listen to the two of you! Trading off bits and pieces of information like cards in a poker game, and each of you gettin' the wind up if the other says one cross word." Peter shook his head, and continued to eye the two officers closely. "May I remind you _gentlemen_ that there's a war on, and if we can remember we're supposed to be _allies_, we might be able to get down to the business of winning it. Now, if you want to treat this like a poker game, fine, because I'm ready to call your bets."

Hogan crossed his arms and turned to face the Corporal. "And may I remind _you_, Corporal Newkirk, that in this war, there are good guys, and bad guys, and the good guys aren't necessarily determined by family name only. For your information, the details he just asked for are the type that the Krauts spent considerable time trying to get out of me, and blurting it out to anyone now without a good reason isn't exactly what I had in mind."

The Colonel turned back to the elder Newkirk. "Look, I'm sorry if I seem so suspicious. It's just that the Krauts are well known for using one family member against another, and as much as I trust Peter's instincts, he's close to this one, _awfully_ close. Now, your brother says you're a square deal so I'm gonna let you in on a few things, but you're going to have to come clean with me first." He paused and took in a long breath through his nose, which he released through his mouth. "I was in command of a Bomb Group. My last flight was piloting a B-17. Now it's your turn: I need to know why that's so important."

Both men drew back slightly under Hogan's initial outburst. Peter's eyes narrowed, angry at first over the dressing-down he'd just been handed, but on realizing it was at least partially deserved, he pushed his anger aside and thought about what his commanding officer said, not only about Tristan's question, but what Hogan had revealed about his past as well. Keeping quiet, Peter waited for his brother's next move.

Tristan kept his surprise at Hogan's comments well-hidden under years of command experience, but added them to the ever-growing puzzle the American officer represented. Even more surprising was the fact that Peter's easily roused temper didn't come to the fore, either in offense at the rebuke or in defense of his own brother. Perhaps it was time to put a few more cards on the table. "Very well, Colonel. As a bomber pilot, you'll understand the importance of charting a course to avoid known flak concentrations. The Germans know this, and tend to place fighters in concentration along the same routes, making life Hell for our lads whenever possible. You men in the American Air Corps, flying as you do in daylight and in large formations, stand at least a decent chance to defend yourselves from fighter attack." Tristan paused, then as if realizing how his words could be taken, quickly went on. "No disrespect intended, Colonel. I had the occasion to accompany one of your Bomb Groups on a raid one day; quite frankly, I found it a bit disconcerting to see the fighters swarm around the aircraft."

Hogan shifted uncomfortably but kept his voice steady. "'Disconcerting' is typical British understatement, I'd say," he observed, nodding. His eyes fell away from the others in the room. "When it gets personal, it's like nothing you've ever experienced before."

Tristan raised an eyebrow at Hogan's reaction, and glanced at Peter in confusion. The younger brother took advantage of the fact that the Colonel wasn't watching to silently mouth the word "Later." The older brother nodded and spoke quietly. "It is, indeed." When the American's eyes came back to him, Tristan continued. "Night flying is rather different; as a rule, each plane is more or less on its own over the course of the entire mission. We steer around the flak batteries as best we can, and using the cover of darkness and any clouds that may be present, do what we can to avoid what fighters are sent up.

"I don't have to tell you what happens to a bomber that's separated from the group when the fighters find her." The Squadron Leader's voice caught in his throat as he went on. "I was on the air corridor between Cologne and Düsseldorf, in what should have been sufficient cloud cover to keep Jerry safely on the ground, when we were bounced by at least half a dozen Messerschmidts." He shook his head sadly. "I kept _Maid Marian _flying long enough for my men to jump, then joined them. On the way down, I kept thinking that those fighters knew where to find us, and once I'd landed, it wasn't long until I found out that I was absolutely correct in that assessment."

Hogan furrowed his brow. "How's that?"

"Jerry's put a new radar installation in just south of Düsseldorf. With it in place, they not only have advance warning of anything coming into the area, they're also able to give detailed information to the fighters, steering them directly onto anyone unfortunate enough to be caught out alone." The Englishman stopped, and gave the American a long look. "Two nights from now, there's a major show on for Cologne. Not only are we going for the rail yards, we're taking out a munitions factory as well. I don't have to tell you, Colonel, what the knowledge of that radar site would mean to Bomber Command."

Hogan grimaced at the thought of Allied planes heading into a trap. Then he nodded. "Okay. I can't promise you I'll get you out of here in forty-eight hours. But I'll make sure London gets word well in advance." He turned to Peter. "Newkirk, get Kinch on the horn to London. Take Tristan with you and make sure he passes on every bit of information he has. We can't let our boys go out into this kind of trap. Then make sure he gets in touch with the Underground. I need to set up a meeting with them, tonight. Meanwhile, I'll explain to Klink why he has to get the Squadron Leader out of this camp... and exactly where I want him to be."

Peter grinned at the look of confusion on his brother's face, but he took a moment to glance at Hogan as well. The change that had come over his commanding officer was electrifying; the withdrawn, suspicious man was gone, replaced with the American at his best. It was to that man that the Corporal tossed off a cheerful "Righto, gov'nor," as he hustled his brother out of the office. Hogan's best plans usually started off this way, with a flurry of orders flung in all directions while the Colonel himself put one clever scheme or another into action. Peter was relieved that it finally looked like his brother and his commanding officer were starting to see eye-to-eye, and he was gleefully anticipating Tristan's reaction to the tunnel system hidden right under their feet. "Come along then, Tris. It's time for a bit of show and tell."


	4. Show And Tell

**No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Text and original characters copyright wordybirds. Thanks.**

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Peter stepped off the ladder and took a quick look around the central hub of the tunnel, nodding when he saw that no one was about. He moved away, and turned to watch his brother's progress with a cat in-the-cream-jar sort of grin on his face, glad to finally be able to let Tristan in on the real story here at Stalag 13. _Would have saved everyone a lot of time and pain if we'd have done this in the first place. I suppose the gov'nor was right with insisting that the new man be checked out, but... bloody hell, Colonel, I know my brother and I know he'd never cross over. Never._

The astounded look on Tristan's face that had appeared when the bunk above the tunnel had risen up, only grew larger as he descended. He stepped off the bottom rung and looked around, stunned. "My God, Peter. What the... What _is_ all this?"

"This, my dear brother, is what we call a tunnel." Peter said smugly, laughing as he ducked away from the mock punch Tristan threw his way.

"A tunnel?" Tristan echoed, as his words echoed in the passage. "This is much, much more than a tunnel, brother dear." His eyes swept the area, taking in the equipment, the oil lamps, the cot, the clear indication of branch tunnels. "This is a bloody rabbit warren. What the devil is going on?"

"You've heard the lectures on escape and evasion put on by the Intelligence blokes, right?" Peter gestured at the tunnel and equipment surrounding them. "You're standing in the middle of one of the largest escape centers in this part of Nazi Germany, Tris. This is what the gov'nor likes to call the Traveler's Aide Society. We bring in downed flyers and escaped POWs and give them food, clothing, maps and such, then get them in contact with the local Underground so they can be sent back to England. In our spare time, we do intelligence work and the odd bit of sabotage as well."

Peter's voice had taken on a serious tone that Tristan hadn't heard in his brother's voice for years. "This, my dear brother, is the reason for the 'no escape' rule. We've got most of the guards looking the other way by using a combination of bribes and blackmail, and Colonel Hogan keeps the Kommandant believing that it's impossible for any of us to escape. That keeps Klink in charge of this camp, since it's the only Stalag Luft with a perfect no escape record, and that keeps our entire operation in business."

Tristan's expression transformed as what his brother said started to gel with everything else he had experienced since he was brought to Stalag 13. "So... your Colonel Hogan... he... runs this Society? And you're part of this?" He shook his head, still dumbfounded. "Peter, I... I don't know what to say."

"He does, and I am. Colonel Hogan is the brains behind it all, Tris. We had the tunnel dug and the radio setup in place back in 1942, but all we had in mind was escaping ourselves. It was the gov'nor's idea to start helping other men to escape instead, and he saw the potential for doing a lot of damage to the German war effort by staying here and working behind the lines instead of going back to his Bomb Group." Peter leaned against one of the roof supports as he fell silent for a moment. "We're all volunteers, Tris. Every man in this camp has agreed to stay and see this thing through, but we're all free to go if we want. The thing is, if I went back, I'd be nothing more than just another Air Gunner in need of retraining... but here, I can hit the Nazis where it hurts the most. That's why I stay locked up in this ruddy hole when I could be back home in forty-eight hours or less. Everything we do here keeps the Krauts out of England, and away from Nan and our sisters."

Tristan shook his head as he continued to survey his surroundings. The cot, the oil lamps, the passages that clearly led to other branch tunnels, the radio. "Sounds like the best reason of all, Peter," he said. Frowning slightly, he said, "So this No-Escape policy.. it's in place, but you can leave anyway? And what's with Hogan anyway? I would have thought-- well, it seemed like... If I were him, I'd ruddy well want out, quick smart. Especially if Jerry's been less than hospitable."

"That's why he stays, Tristan," Peter said quietly. "This is how he pays them back for everything they've done to him. Every man that makes it home, every munitions train or supply convoy we blow up, every single piece of intelligence we send to London is payback for the injuries, the humiliation and every bit of misery they've piled on since the day they shot him down."

Tristan once again found himself at a loss. "All this... all this from a simple pilot. One man would hardly seem capable of even conceiving of this," he said softly, "much less staying sane while attempting it." He grimaced slightly. "I feel a fool, Peter. It sounds like Jerry's done everything he can to make Hogan's life a living Hell, and yet he has stayed behind to do this... I had no idea when I said what I did about him. No wonder you got upset with me. I'm sorry."

"I know." Peter nodded slowly. "I wanted to tell you from the start, but I had my orders. You had to be checked out first, Tris, and well... that's always been part of my job here. Give any newcomers the once-over, and if there's a problem," he sighed and shook his head. "I deal with that sort of thing as well. The safety and security of this operation comes before any one of us, and that... includes you."

The younger man went silent for a few moments, and Tristan waited quietly for his brother to continue. He felt that Peter had more to say but was, as always, having a hard time finding the words.

For his part, Peter was starting to feel guilty over almost everything he'd said to his brother since Tristan had arrived. Finally, he gave up trying to figure out the 'right' words, and just started to talk. "Tris, mate, I've done you wrong from the time you set foot in this rotten hole. I know Jerry could never turn you. I never should have put you through the wringer as I did earlier." He sighed, and dropped his gaze to the floor. "I was wrong, and I'm sorry."

"I understand, mate," Tristan said softly, touched. "I suppose this even explains why you're so protective of Hogan. You seem very loyal to him. Hell, I even heard you call him 'gov'nor'! I don't remember the last time I heard you do that."

"He's been loyal to me, even when I didn't deserve it. Colonel Hogan's the finest mate you could ask for, Tristan, and more." Peter's voice went very quiet as he spoke. "I don't know how else to say it except he _is _the gov'nor."

Tristan nodded, quietly moved by the change this American had somehow brought about in his usually gruff brother. "I'd say you've explained it just fine." He paused, and then shrugged. "And so you stay here with him."

"I'm staying until the day we can all walk out the front gate as free men. In the meantime," Peter visibly shook off the somber mood this conversation had put him in, and grinned. "I do a few bits here and there to make a general nuisance of myself as far as Jerry is concerned." He walked over to the clothing rack, and pulled out a Gestapo officer's uniform jacket for Tristan to see. "A little needlework, and a bit of theatre on occasion when necessary."

Tristan ran his fingers through his hair and smiled. "Well, as long as you're not going to waste," he said.

At that moment, footsteps from above made Tristan turn around, only to see a tall black man and a small man wearing a red scarf descending the ladder. "Oh, no," moaned the small one. "Carter was right!"

"Great," said the taller man—an American Sergeant, Tristan noted with some curiosity. "Now there are _two_ of them!"

-------------------- ---------------------

Hogan looked at Tristan intently as he unfolded his plan of action. "It's all arranged. Klink's convinced it would be a terrible idea for you to stay here much longer. I've organized it so he'll have you transferred to an officers' camp tomorrow. When that happens, we're going to have the _Abwehr_ pick you up-- military intelligence, only to make sure there's some real intelligence involved, they're actually going to be members of the Underground, and," he said, turning to Peter, "Newkirk. Then we'll get you to the sub by rendezvous and you'll be on your way."

"I say, Colonel," Tristan deadpanned, "if there's to be real intelligence involved with this, are you quite certain you wish to include my younger brother?" He felt much more at ease around the American officer now that he understood what was really going on at this camp, and the events at roll call had shown that Hogan possessed a remarkable sense of humor and a rather dry wit that he wasn't afraid to use when the occasion called for it.

"Oh do me a favor, Tris, be quiet else I'll tell everyone who really did your homework for you back in flight school." Peter rolled his eyes, but smiled fondly at his brother all the same.

"I'll admit it can seem like a bit of a stretch," Hogan quipped, his dark eyes twinkling as he glanced at a now quickly reddening Corporal. "But in this case he's the best one you could have with you. When it comes to being on the outside, Newkirk's your man." _He was the first one I took with me when we started all this._ "And he'll be the best one to take you to England." Hogan paused, not really to let his words sink in to the brothers, but to himself. "When you get your brother to that sub, Peter, I want you to get on it, too. It's time you went home."

_It's time you went home_. The words echoed in Peter's mind as he stared at the American in shock. Earlier that day, Hogan had raised the possibility of him going home, but had left the decision in Peter's hands. That had now changed, and the Colonel had made it an order, but of all the orders Hogan had given him over the years, this was one of the few that he desperately wanted to accept while at the same time the very idea of obeying left him feeling hollow inside. Numbly, he shook his head as he tried to voice his protest. "Colonel... I can't... I... I promised I'd stay."

Hogan slowly drew in a breath and held it for a few seconds before releasing it. He knew that earlier he had asked the Corporal if he wanted to follow his older brother back to England. But the longer he thought about it, the more Hogan had realized that leaving that decision in Peter's hands was unfair. Torn between a sense of duty to the operation and a desire to go home-- what man of Newkirk's caliber wouldn't have a hard time deciding that? And so Hogan had determined that making the decision for Peter was the only true option. Could he order him to stay? No-- the younger Newkirk had already sacrificed more than Hogan would have asked of any of his men. His loyalty was unwavering, and Hogan was grateful.

Now it was time to repay that loyalty, in the only way that Hogan had any control over: he could end Peter's assignment, and send him back to England and freedom. And so he would. "I know you promised," Hogan said softly. "And I promised I'd look after you. When we started this operation two years ago, you were ready to go home, and I know it was hard for you to stay. Now... now I want you to make your escape, the way we intended when I first got here." Hogan paused and waited for the stinging behind his eyes to subside. "I'll cover it with Klink so he's safe. It's time for you to go, Peter. I'll be sorry to lose you... but at least I know you'll be in good hands."

The generosity of Hogan's offer and sincere kindness in his tone was overwhelming. Peter had been a prisoner of the Germans longer than any of the men involved in the operation, but to have the chance to go home at the price of leaving his closest friends behind was too much for him to take. Without a word, he spun around and pushed his way past Tristan as he ran from the office, heading straight for the bunk bed concealing the tunnel entrance that led the way to the very freedom he wanted, though he couldn't imagine paying that kind of price for it

At Newkirk's abrupt departure, Hogan spun away from Tristan and lay his head in his hand, overwhelmed and almost sick inside.

The Squadron Leader watched, touched at the sacrifice the Colonel was clearly making, at the way it put into action everything his brother had told him in the tunnel. "I'll take care of him for you, sir. I promise," the Squadron Leader said softly.

But when Hogan heard the rattling of the bunk over the tunnel entrance, he turned and bolted out of his office. "You might not get the chance." Hogan came into the common room to see Newkirk about to step down the ladder. "Corporal—stand down!"

Peter froze, one hand tightly gripping the bunk rail above the exposed tunnel entrance. He couldn't turn to face Hogan, instead he stared down into the dark opening at his feet as his voice came out in a strangled whisper. "Let me go out, Colonel... I... just let me go. Please."

His heart caught in his throat, Hogan managed, "Okay. Remember roll call's in two hours." Peter nodded once as he swung himself over the lower rail and dropped to the earthen floor below, leaving silence in his wake.

Aware of the shocked eyes of the other men in the barracks on them but seeing only Peter Newkirk's hurried departure, Hogan continued staring at the now empty tunnel entrance. "Le Beau, follow him," he said huskily. He turned back toward his office. "Make sure he comes back."

------------------------- --------------------------

Tristan lay on the cot near the radio, hands laced beneath his head as he stared at the ceiling. Kinch had offered to let the Englishman borrow the private space when his non-stop pacing in the common room of the barracks had threatened to drive everyone to distraction. He'd been ready to go after his brother himself, but the black Sergeant had assured him that Corporal Le Beau could handle things with Peter quite well on his own, and that it wouldn't sit well with the Colonel if the Squadron Leader went out and got himself picked up by a patrol just now.

So he waited for his brother to come back, and thought about what Colonel Hogan had said. Arrangements had been made with the Kommandant to remove him from the prison camp, except that the local Underground would be intercepting the transfer and would take him to meet a submarine of all things. For Tristan, the plan sounded like something out of a fairy-tale, but Peter had done no more than simply nod as if it was an every day event. Given his present surroundings, the Squadron Leader thought that just might be the case. The fairy-tale had turned into a horror story when Hogan said that Peter was to go back to England with him. Tristan thought he'd never forget the anguished look on his brother's face when the Colonel's words struck home, nor would he forget the pain Hogan had clearly felt when Peter had fled the room.

The Englishman's jumbled thoughts were cut off by a banging that he now recognized as the bunk above him jerking up to allow passage to the tunnel system below. He sighed and considered turning toward the wall and away from whomever was about to intrude on his solitude, then thought better of it when he realized the intruder was the young, bubbly Sergeant whom he had misled outside in the compound.

Carter smiled almost apologetically as his feet hit the floor. "Hey," he greeted Tristan, hesitantly.

"Good afternoon, Sergeant... Carter, is it not?" Tristan didn't move as he spoke to the American. Though he was too polite to tell the Sergeant to push off, he hoped the young man would take the hint and leave him in peace.

Carter's smile turned into that lopsided grin he carried when he wasn't quite sure he was completely comfortable. "Yeah-- well, Andrew. I mean, you can call me Carter, but my name is Andrew." He approached the cot, but stopped a few feet away. "Gee... you really do look a lot like Newkirk," he observed.

Tristan sighed, but he couldn't help smiling a little at the wistful sound of Carter's voice. "Actually, one could say that he rather looks like me, as I am the elder." He sat up and ran his hand through his hair before looking over at the American. "We've not been properly introduced. I'm Squadron Leader Tristan Newkirk, at your service. Of course, you would have heard that at roll call earlier today."

Carter's face broke into a broad grin as he came forward and extended his hand. "Yeah, well... the Kommandant's pretty good about rambling on and on when he gets flustered. But you know, I think I do that, too, sometimes. I mean that's what Colonel Hogan tells me, but I can never tell until he tells me—well, most of the time... and... um... well I guess I'm doing it now, aren't I?"

"No, you're fine, Sergeant." Tristan had stood to take Carter's hand, and now he gestured for the young man to pull a seat over from the nearby table before taking his own seat on the cot. "I'm glad you're here. I'd like to apologize for leading you on earlier today out in the yard. If it makes you feel better, Peter's already taken me to task for it."

"Oh, I didn't mind," Carter said dismissively. "I'm easy to fool, I guess." He sat down, and his attitude changed. "Everybody's really upset," he said quietly. "Peter's gone out... and the Colonel hasn't left his office in over an hour." He frowned unhappily. "And I don't even know what's going on!"

Tristan nodded sadly. "I'm not entirely certain myself, Sergeant, but I do know that it has something to do with the arrangements your Colonel Hogan has made for my departure." Earlier in the day, he'd spent time walking around the yard with Peter while his brother had given him a rundown of the men involved in the secret operation, so he knew it was safe to have this conversation with Carter.

"I guess Newkirk's really upset about you leaving, huh?" Carter guessed.

"We haven't seen each other for nearly four years," Tristan said softly. "This whole affair has come as something of a shock for both of us, and then once I learned what you lads are up to here... it's all a bit much to take in all at once."

Carter laughed softly through his nose. "I know what you mean. It was for me, too. I was the last one to join up-- the others were already doing all sorts of stuff before I showed up. Funny how it's all second nature now. Y'know," he said, warming to his subject, "when I first got here, I thought sure I'd just curl up and hide till the end of the war. But thanks to Colonel Hogan, I found something I'm really good at. And he always lets us do our best, boy. I wouldn't want to let him down, not ever."

"He sounds like a good man." Peter had said that Carter had a tendency to ramble on a bit once he'd gotten started, so Tristan decided to see what he could learn by letting the Sergeant talk on his own.

And Carter was on a roll. "He is, boy-- I mean, sir. Colonel Hogan's the best. I wasn't here when he got here; I was still flying my Gooney Bird then, yep-- but I've heard stories. And he knew just what to do. Not at first, of course, I mean things were pretty tough on him at first, especially with Berlin still asking questions and all that-- but I mean he snuck the radio parts back in that we needed, and then when he was asked to stay instead of going back to the 504th, I mean-- who would want to do that? But he did, you know? Because that's the kind of man he is. And we all know it. And we all follow him. And even though some of what he plans doesn't even make sense to us, it sure does work out, you know? In the end, the Colonel's always thinking. I don't think he ever stops thinking. He's always coming up with something to confuse the Krauts. And he never makes a single move without considering what it will mean to the rest of us. And that's what makes him so special. The men are first—always. No matter what." Carter paused to take a breath, then grinned sheepishly. "I'm doing it again, aren't I?"

"It's all right, Sergeant. I don't mind; quite the opposite in fact." Tristan smiled gently. This man Carter was clearly every bit as loyal to Hogan as Peter was, even though it was for completely different reasons. And to find out that this Colonel Hogan had been the rather well-known commander of the American 504th Bomb Group was nothing short of amazing to the Squadron Leader. Tristan kicked himself mentally for not putting it together before now, but then it had been a couple of years since Hogan had been shot down. The American Colonel had had a reputation for what were politely called "innovative" planning abilities and for bringing off the impossible missions to the point that even the brass at RAF Bomber Command had been paying attention to him.

So this was the man that had earned not only Peter's respect and loyalty, but that of the other men as well. Tristan considered the fact that Hogan was willing to let Peter go home despite what that decision clearly meant to the Colonel himself, and realized that he, too, had a great deal of respect for the American officer. He knew only one way to give Hogan that respect in turn, and that was to honor the Colonel's decision to send Peter home. It would be hard on his brother, but Tristan was determined to help him see it through.

Carter shrugged. "Well, anyway, now everybody's all edgy, and the Colonel's holed up in his room, and Le Beau's out and Newkirk's out-- I mean the other Newkirk, not you-- and we were all supposed to go to the Rec Hall for a movie tonight-- if we're not needed on a mission, that is."

"Yes, I do seem to have caused a bit of a stir, haven't I?" Tristan glanced at his watch and shook his head slightly. "Rest assured, Sergeant, that I didn't plan for things to turn out this way. However, I believe Colonel Hogan mentioned something about another roll call coming up soon? If that's the case, perhaps we'd best be getting back upstairs." _And if that is indeed the case, what will happen if Peter doesn't make it back in time?_ The Squadron Leader stood and gestured toward the ladder. "After you, then."

"Well, that's what I came down here to tell ya," Carter said. "I don't want you to panic if Louis and Peter don't make it back in time-- things don't always go to plan... but you don't have to worry. I'll teach you how to be in two spots at once. It's a cinch you'll be able to fool Schultz into thinking you're yourself _and_ your brother. So don't worry, just be ready."

Tristan stared at Carter for a moment, then couldn't help smiling at the earnest young man. _I see that Peter has good friends here as well._ "I'll follow your lead then, Sergeant." He laughed softly and gestured to the ladder once again.


	5. Resignation

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

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Peter ran blindly through the woods, oblivious to his surroundings until his foot slipped on the rotten bark of a downed tree trunk and sent him sprawling to the ground. He started to get back up, then simply gave up and lay back where he'd fallen, chest heaving as he took deep gasping breaths while his body recovered from the headlong dash from the camp. His body may have called for a break, but his mind was still running, refusing to allow him to think of anything at all.

Straining to take a deep breath, Le Beau continued running after his friend, trying not to alert every German in sight that he was out of camp in broad daylight. Newkirk was running fast, faster than the Frenchman had ever seen, and with shorter legs Le Beau was finding it hard to keep up. When he saw the Englishman fall, he stopped short, worrying until he saw Newkirk sit up and then lie back down. He breathed heavily for a few seconds and wiped his damp brow with his sleeve, then trudged up the hill to stand over his friend. "You are okay?" he asked, sounding almost abrupt, but not meaning to.

"Yeah... I'm fine, Louis." Peter didn't open his eyes to look at his friend as he replied, his voice a barely heard whisper. "Go on back to camp. I'm fine."

"_Non_." Le Beau stood and stared barefaced at the Englishman. "I will not go back. And you are not fine. You can lie there and tell me nothing, but I will not go back without you. _Le Colonel_ is worried about you, and therefore so am I."

"Won't be long, mate, and you'll not have to worry 'bout me any more." The Englishman still wouldn't look at Le Beau as he spoke, and the Frenchman almost couldn't hear Peter's next words. "The Colonel's ordered me home."

Le Beau nearly folded onto the grass beside Newkirk. "Home?" he whispered. He thought back to the barracks and the devastated look on Hogan's face as he turned back to his office after ordering Le Beau to follow Peter. "So that is why..." His voice trailed off. He looked back at Newkirk. "But Newkirk, I thought you would be happy to be out of this place. It is what we have all dreamed of!"

Newkirk sat up quickly as his eyes snapped open and he looked earnestly at his friend. "I know!" he agreed, almost incredulous. Then he grew quiet. "It's just… not the way I expected it to be. I was sure I'd be ready to pick up and run like a shot. But, now that I can, it's… different."

"So when do you go?" Le Beau asked quietly.

"Tomorrow." The deep-seated anguish in his voice was clearly reflected in Peter's eyes as he stared off into the sky. "The fix is in to get Tristan out of camp, and I'm to go along with him, then."

"Well that is _good_!" There was real joy in Le Beau's when he answered. After all, this really was good news for his friend, who had been in camp for a long time. "You will be with your _famille_ again. _Le Colonel_ will want that for you. And so will your brother. And so will I."

"But what about you? You and all the others that'll be staying behind?" Peter asked quietly. "Dear God, Louis... I want to go home and be with my family more than anything in the world. I've got a nephew I've never seen except as a photograph, and my Nan's gettin' on in years, as well." The Englishman finally raised himself up on one elbow to look at Le Beau. "But why, Louis? Why should I get to go when the rest of you don't?"

Le Beau shrugged. "Because it is your turn," he said simply. "Why did you end up here when you could have been in any other camp? Why did _le Colonel_ trust you to work in the operation? These things... we do not have answers, _mon ami_. They just happen. And now Colonel Hogan feels you have done enough. Now you can do what you were planning to do when he came here in the first place—escape and head back to England."

"You and Kinch were supposed to come with me, remember? We were gonna be the first guys out, until we gave that chance to Colonel Hogan. I don't regret that; it was the right thing to do." Peter shook his head slowly. "But this doesn't feel right; it's like I'm betraying everyone…."

Le Beau waved away the argument. "You would be betraying us if you did _not_ go. You know _le Colonel_ has said many times we can go when we wish." He smiled self-deprecatingly. "Hey, do you remember that time early on that I said I was going to escape, and I pushed through the wire only to have one of the dogs come up from behind me and try to _fait amour_?" The Frenchman laughed, and Newkirk smiled, and the friends continued their reminiscing, until the Englishman felt ready to return to camp.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

When the light knock on the door came, Hogan was in the same position he had been in for most of the last hour: his thumb and middle finger rubbing his forehead, temples, and eyes, his elbow firmly sitting on the clenched fist crossing his chest. He was breathing almost with difficulty, the bunk he was sitting on inviting his exhausted body for rest but being ignored by his racing mind. He was doing the right thing, he was _sure _of it. Peter would have to want to go home. And he _deserved_ it. In any case, how hard would it be for the Englishman to keep his mind on the operation once his brother had come through here, clearly wanting to keep in contact, clearly not being able to unless the two of them were together again? And who was Hogan to deny him that, operation or not? And if he was doing the right thing, why did Hogan feel like he'd been stabbed in the gut, and the knife was twisting, hard?

The knock came again, a little more insistent. Finally, Hogan gave in; whoever it was wasn't going to go away. "Come," he said softly.

Kinch quietly stepped into the tiny room, closing the door as he studied Hogan thoughtfully. Something drastic had happened in here, but it didn't seem like one of the serious, but thankfully rare, arguments that came up between the American Colonel and the English Corporal. No, not an argument. Something worse. Clearing his throat, Kinch finally spoke up. "Looks like you need someone to talk to, sir."

Without looking at Kinch, Hogan brought his hand down to run it across his face. Then he sighed and rubbed his forehead again. "No thanks, Kinch," he replied, closing his eyes.

"You're not doing anyone any good by trying to keep it all bottled up inside, Colonel. Le Beau's probably caught up with Newkirk by now, and Carter's downstairs with Peter's brother, so you know they're in good hands. Even if Carter'll talk the Squadron Leader's ear off in the process." Kinch shook his head and smiled slightly. "It's your turn now."

Hogan shook his head wearily. "There's nothing to talk about. I'm sending Peter home; that's all there is to it."

Kinch shook his head, bowled over by the admission. "So that's it." He pulled out a stool from under Hogan's desk and settled down on it. "I was wondering what you'd do when those two got together." He tried to look without worry at the Colonel. "I take it Peter said no."

"No, he didn't say no," Hogan replied shortly. "But somehow I think he thinks I'm kicking him out because I don't want him in the operation any more." He shook his head, not wanting to be drawn into this conversation. "It doesn't matter; he has to go. It's not fair to keep him here when we spring Tristan."

"That's Newkirk for you, Colonel. Always finding the worst possible angle on everything; you should know that by now. For what it's worth, I think you're doing the right thing, because I think he'd go wire happy otherwise." Kinch paused, taking a moment to let that sink in. "The question now is, how do _you_ feel about it?"

Hogan braced his arms on the side of the bunk. "It doesn't matter how I feel; it's what I have to do." He let out a long breath, then glanced at Kinch. "I don't want to talk about it. Let's just leave it at that, okay? He's going, and he can hate me from a nice safe office in London. I can live with that." Hogan looked back at the floor before his feet, then closed his eyes.

"Of all the..." Kinch stared at Hogan for a long moment. "You're wrong on this one, sir. It damn well does matter how you feel about sending Newkirk home, because if you can't get it straight in your own head, you'll never get it past that thick skull of his." The Sergeant paused, thinking that Newkirk didn't have the only thick skull in camp. He continued, his tone reflecting the certainty of his words. "Not only that, but just listen to yourself! Hate you? Colonel, Peter's got a temper on him hot enough to light the stove without a match, and we all know he's flared up at you more than once. But no matter what he's been mad at you over, or even how long he stays mad, he'll never be able to _hate _you for anything."

Hogan looked out the window of the barracks, not seeing anything. "You didn't see him, Kinch. This one's gonna stick for a long time. But he'll get over it. And the more often he's able to put his feet up in front of a roaring fire at night that he didn't set off with Carter's explosives, the easier it will be for him to get used to the idea. This isn't exactly anyone's idea of paradise. It'll grow on him, going home. And if it doesn't while he's here, it will when he's there."

Kinch reflected on the devastated looks he had seen on both men's faces when Newkirk had come running out of the office, and realized that Hogan _still_ carried the same look. He sighed softly, shaking his head as he thought about how alike the two were in so many ways, though he wasn't about to mention that. Instead, he said, "Well, Le Beau's with him by now. If anyone can calm Peter down and get him to see reason, it's Louis."

Hogan nodded and stood up, then absent-mindedly headed for the window and looked outside. "Good, then we have nothing to worry about."

"Sure, Colonel." Kinch wasn't convinced, but, wanting to reassure Hogan, he added, "Nothing to worry about."

"Now, why don't you concentrate on some real issues, and get in touch with the Underground to organize meeting the transfer truck tomorrow? Tell them I'll have an exact time and route for them as soon as possible."

Kinch whistled softly. "Tomorrow? Okay, I'll get on it." Kinch stood and went to the door. "Everything will work itself out, Colonel. Just give it time." Then he went out as quietly as he'd entered.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan watched as Newkirk filed back into the barracks with the other men after roll call, looking slightly paler than normal, and quieter than the Colonel was comfortable with. Picking the kettle up off the stove and concentrating intensely on the pouring of the drink, Hogan said, "So you got back okay, then."

Peter nodded briefly as he took the tea kettle to the sink and filled it with water. "Had to make sure Louis got back in time." He set the kettle on the stove and headed for the locker on the floor at the foot of his bunk.

Hogan took a long, bitter drink as Newkirk passed near him. "Good," he said shortly, not trusting himself to say more.

After a bit of digging around, Peter found a small tin of tea and held it in his hands, not looking up as he crouched by the locker. A long, silent moment later, he didn't look up as he spoke quietly. "May I see you in private, Colonel?"

Hogan let himself shoot a quick look at the Corporal, then nodded. "Sure," he said. "I'll be in my office." And he took off before anyone could see the pain in his eyes.

Peter set the tin on the table in front of Le Beau, then rested his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Make enough for everyone, will you, Louis?"

The Frenchman glanced up, first at the office door that Hogan had left ajar, then at Peter, and nodded. "_Oui_, Pierre. I will take care of it for you." He watched in silence as the Englishman crossed the room and paused to knock on the door frame.

"Yeah," came Hogan's voice.

Running his hand nervously over his hair, Peter nodded and went inside, closing the door as he did so. He came to a stop near the foot of the bunk and stood, head down, waiting for Hogan to speak.

Hogan had sat at his desk when he went into his office, and now shot a quick look in the direction of the Englishman and nodded before looking back at some invisible dust on the surface. "You need something, Newkirk?" Hogan asked, formal, almost business-like.

"Yes, sir." Peter said softly. "I want to apologize for the way I acted earlier. I should have heard you out first, as I know you've got a reason behind the things you come up with... and even if I don't like it, I owe you the courtesy of listening before I go off like that."

Hogan shook his head. "You don't have to apologize," he said. "I didn't give you much chance to get used to the idea." He sighed and stood up. "Look, we're getting Tristan out tomorrow. How much of your head is going to be on the operation if you know he's heading back home? You've had your time here—more than any of the others—and it's time you got out." Hogan paused and shook his head. "Sometimes the good guys have to get a break, too." For a few seconds, Hogan watched Newkirk, trying to gauge his reaction, but the longer he looked, the more he remembered, and he looked back toward his desk again, clearly avoiding the man's eyes.

"Tristan has to go; I know that. Berlin would never allow him to stay in any case; can't have an officer in with the other ranks, after all." Peter finally looked up, his green eyes dark with sadness. _That's a special punishment they've singled you out for, isn't it, gov'nor?_ "I also knew you'd do everything you could to make certain he didn't sit out the rest of the war in an Oflag, sir, and I'll be grateful to you for the rest of my life for getting him out of here. I just... never expected to go with him."

Hogan said, "Well it's time you went. And you might as well go with someone who I think can keep an eye on you."

Peter grinned for a moment, despite the seriousness of the situation. "Keep me in line, you mean, Colonel. He couldn't manage it when we were boys, and I don't think he'll have any better luck now." The grin faded as he went on. "But speakin' of being in line, don't you think old Klink's gonna miss me at roll call? Even without that bloody monocle, he knows me on sight, after all. And if I'm gone, his perfect no escape record's gone as well. You know what that'll mean not only to the operation here, but to every one of you here as well."

Hogan's tone was almost sharp as he sensed Newkirk hedging about the Colonel's plans. "I'll take care of Klink. I'm going to arrange your transfer; the Underground will take you out and you'll 'escape' from them. Then you'll come back here, get changed and head out to meet the truck when it gets to the rendezvous point. After that, you'll take your brother to the sub and get back to London. We'll manage."

"Don't get me wrong, gov'nor, there's not a day goes by that I don't want to be home. But the truth is, you need me here. Who besides me can open locks and empty pockets when it's got to be done?" Peter looked steadily into Hogan's eyes, trying to impress upon the Colonel just how serious he was about what he was saying. "Who else can keep an eye on Carter and see that he don't blow himself up setting charges? Not only that, where are you gonna find another _Unterfuhrer _for when you have to be the _Oberfuhrer_?" He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I've got a job to do here, Colonel. Let me stay and do it."

In spite of himself, Hogan started to feel a prick of irritation. "Look, there'll be other people to pick the locks and other people to look after Carter. And even though it's great having you as my _Unterfuhrer,_ there'll be other people to do that, too. We all have a job to do, and my job is to look after my men, and your job is to obey orders. And my order to you is to go home and stay there."

Hogan paused, mad at himself for letting the dam burst like this, and regretful when he saw the hurt look that Newkirk tried to hide. "Look, Newkirk," he resumed in a hushed voice, "I understand where you're coming from, I really do. But it's time to let go. It's time for you to go home and leave this to us now." Hogan shrugged. "If we do it right, the Third Reich will collapse in a few months and we'll be right behind you." He tried to force on a smile. "And I want you to have some places ready for us to go to… and a few women to charm, if it's all the same to you."

Peter's gaze fell to the floor as he listened to what Hogan had to say. At first, the Colonel's words, and even his tone, only added to the pain the Englishman was struggling with. As the silence in the room lengthened, something that Hogan had said echoed through the confusion in his mind. _It's time to let go_. That, and Le Beau's words that it was simply his turn to leave repeated themselves until Peter sighed in defeat. "All right then, Colonel. If this is what you truly want... I'll go."

Hogan nodded, almost too strongly, and stared at the floor. "It's what I want," he said, his words clipped to keep the emotion out of them. "It's what you deserve."

"Colonel Hogan, I..." Peter's voice trailed off as he tried to find the right words to say what he felt. "I just want to thank you, gov'nor. For everything."

Hogan nodded quickly, blinking hard and swallowing to contain what he would later realize was his sense of loss. "There's... nothing to thank me for. It's just the right thing to do." Hogan made sure he stayed turned away from the Englishman as he continued. "Now... go on and get yourself organized. And make sure you pack all your stuff. They won't likely let us ship it off to you later if you leave anything behind."

"Right, gov'nor. I don't plan to take much, but anything I leave behind, you can divide it out among those who need it the most. Except the cash." Peter smiled ever so slightly. "There's a few hundred quid in my locker, a mix of camp script and German marks. I want you to take charge of it, sir, and use it for paying the guards to look the other way and things like that." He sighed and turned to the door. "See you at supper, then." As he put his hand on the door knob, the Englishman took a breath, raised his head and pulled a smile into place before going out to face his friends.

Hogan waited until Newkirk was gone. Then he sat back down on his bunk, and held his head in his hands.


	6. Closing Night

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Text and original characters copyright Wordybirds.

Sorry for the delay in getting this up.

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"And that, gentlemen, is why you should never play cards with Carter; he's always got that extra ace up his sleeve." Peter leaned down and pulled the ace of spades out of the end of the Sergeant's shirt sleeve as the other men laughed. He shuffled the deck as he walked back to the open area at the end of the Rec Hall that served as a stage, then slipped the cards into his pocket. Turning back to his small, but select, audience, the magician smiled as he saw that most of them were having a good time.

_I can't think of how to tell these men how much they've come to mean to me; words just aren't enough. I won't be around after tomorrow to play cards, do magic tricks when things are slow or to lighten the mood with a joke, so I have to make this last night count._ The Englishman had slipped out of the barracks after supper, and made certain he would have the Rec Hall for this private show by passing out a few handfuls of camp money to the right people. It was worth the expense to be able to give one last performance for his closest friends, and to be able to leave them with the finest gift he could imagine: laughter.

Carter was searching his pockets, trying to find heaven knew what. "Hey, how did you do that?" he asked, pulling one pocket inside out. "Did you put that in there before? I didn't put it there, fellas. Honest!" Carter kept hunting through his clothing, trying to make sure there was nothing else hidden in there that he didn't know about.

Kinch just laughed and shook his head. "Carter, that's why it's called magic. You don't have to put it there—Peter did." He eyed the Englishman. "Somehow."

The look Peter turned on Kinch was as innocent as a newborn babe. "Would you like to see it again, then?"

Kinch sat up straighter and tried to hide his grin. "Yeah. Now I'd like to see you try it on _me_."

"If you insist, mate. Why don't you count them first?" Peter drew the deck from his pocket with a flourish, and handed it to Kinch. When the Sergeant had not only counted, but shuffled the deck several times before returning it, the Corporal just shook his head and gave the audience an affronted look. "You know, somehow, I don't think he trusts me."

Le Beau laughed. "He has learned many things since he came here, _mon ami_. Naivety is not one of them. He cannot trust you any more than he can throw Schultzie when you have cards in your hand."

"It seems they know you all too well, brother dear." Tristan spoke up from where he'd been watching Peter's virtuoso performance with pride.

"Oh do me a favor, Tris." Peter gave his brother a smirking grin. "I seem to remember it was you that taught me my very first card trick, so don't try to come off all innocent here."

The others laughed and noisily enjoyed the banter and the performance. Hogan watched the whole scene with pride in all his men, and sadness in his heart. Try as he might to let the real pleasure of the evening wash over him and sink into him, he couldn't help but be torn by grief and even by doubt. He was doing the right thing by Newkirk, and the operation would survive. But Hogan felt the heavy weight of responsibility on him, and pushing this man—this friend—away, this man who had somehow made his burden lighter even with all his disregard for rank and orders, brought a pain he wanted to conquer. So he smiled on the outside, trying desperately to thank the Englishman for lightness he had brought to Hogan's heart. But the hurt was overpowering, and he was afraid it would spill out if he did much more than watch from the back of the room, and so he nodded and smiled, and stayed quiet.

Peter spread the cards out, inviting Kinch to choose one and memorize it before returning it to the deck, grinning as the ever-cautious Sergeant studied the card carefully and showed it to the rest of the men before finally sliding it back in with the others. The Englishman started shuffling, then caught the excited look on Carter's face as he leaned forward for a better view. Peter folded the cards into one hand, then reached over, grabbed the American by the collar of his jacket and hoisted the young man to his feet. Ignoring the yelp of surprise, the magician dragged Carter closer and positioned him right beside his fellow Sergeant. "There you go, Andrew; now watch closely and see if you can figure it out before Kinch does."

After shuffling a few more times, Peter cut the deck and then turned a card up to Kinch, who laughed and shook his head. "Wrong one." The magician shrugged, shuffled, and turned up another. "Wrong again," was the response.

A thoughtful frown grew across Peter's face as he shuffled once again, and he stopped and quickly counted the cards. When the last one snapped through his fingers, he turned and gave Carter an accusing look. "Right then. I'm one short here, mate. Now how do you suppose that could have happened?"

"Gee, Newkirk, I dunno!" Carter replied, surprised. "I mean—well, gee, you don't think I—"

"Turn out your pockets and let's see."

"There's nothing _in_ my pockets! I turned them inside out two minutes ago!" But Carter complied anyway, and as he did, his voice trailed off—there, in his jacket pocket, was a card. His eyes widened. "I didn't put that there!" He looked at Kinch. "Kinch, you didn't put it there—I watched! It went back in the deck! Didn't it?"

Kinch shook his head and smiled without teeth. "Okay, Newkirk—you win. You really _are _the best magician this camp's ever seen."

From the back of the room, Hogan spoke up. "That's not to say that you're the _only_ magician this camp's ever seen," he said. He smiled softly. "Though the percentage has been pretty low."

"I might be the only magician, gov'nor," Peter leaned down and took one of Kinch's hands in his own, lifted it for everyone to see, then used two fingers to slowly pull a card out of the Sergeant's sleeve. "But it appears these two have been holding out on us when it comes to the light-fingered work."

Kinch grabbed his sleeve protectively. "Hey! How'd _that _get there?"

"I dunno, mate, but you were holdin' the deck first." The innocent look came over Peter's face again. "And I even took you at your word that all the cards were there when you gave it back."

Kinch sat back and raised his arms in surrender. "I give up."

The magician grinned and tucked the cards into his pocket again as he let his eyes run across the faces of his friends until they came to rest on his brother. "You know, mates, there's something about old Tristan there that you don't know about. He's not too bad with a song... as long as you don't expect too much, of course." Peter turned to Le Beau. "Do you think you could play something on the piano while he has a go at it?"

Le Beau grinned. "I am sure I can manage it, Pierre," he replied. "But I do not know many English songs. They are like English food... not very romantic, or fulfilling."

Tristan grinned at his brother, then looked at the Frenchman. "_C'est bien. Mon frère est celui qui n'aime pas de cuisine française, pas moi. Savez-vous 'C'etait une Histoire d'amour'_?" While his accent was not the purest Parisian, it was obvious to Le Beau that the Englishman had spent a great deal of time studying the language.

The smile that lit up Le Beau's face nearly illuminated the room. "_Oui. Oui, mon ami. Je sais 'C'etait une Histoire d'amour.'_" He got up quickly and headed for the piano, leaving the others to watch in stunned silence.

Kinch raised his eyebrows. "Ooh, la la," he said, pretending to be impressed.

For a second, Hogan's eyes smiled, a telling sign of genuine enjoyment. Then he settled back and watched again, wanting to remember every minute of his men together and reveling in each others' company.

Peter looked at Tristan, then at Le Beau, and shook his head. "You know, I think I've just been insulted somehow." He smiled and moved offstage as his brother's tenor voice filled the room. He didn't understand the words, but that didn't stop him from taking pleasure in the performance, and as he glanced around the room, he saw that both Kinch and Carter did as well. When his gaze traveled to the back of the small group, he saw that while Hogan was paying close attention and even had a smile on his face, there was a sadness in his eyes that was quite clear to the Englishman. Peter looked away before the Colonel realized he was being watched. But it distressed him that Hogan was so clearly carrying a deep grief that dampened his enjoyment of the Corporal's going-away gift to his friends. And that Hogan somehow was keeping himself out of that inner circle.

Tristan finished the song and went back to his seat as the men showed their appreciation. When Le Beau started to stand, Peter waved him back to the piano. "Your turn now, Louis," he said with a grin. The Frenchman gave him a look of surprise, then sat back down and started into _The Last Time I Saw Paris_, switching back and forth between French and English as he sang about his beloved homeland.

Next on Peter's list was Kinch, so he turned to the black Sergeant and gestured toward the stage. "Up you go then, and I won't take 'no' for an answer, mate."

Surprised by the request, Kinch didn't move for a minute or so until a nudge from Carter got his attention. When he realized that the others were waiting, he nodded and took his turn. Le Beau didn't know how to play the number he chose, but Kinch's deep, rich tones didn't need any instrumental help as he sang _Shoo Shoo Baby_.

When he finished, Kinch quickly sat back down, somewhat embarrassed by the applause from his friends. Before Peter could say anything, he turned to Carter and grinned. "Guess what? It looks like it's your turn, Andrew."

"But I..." Carter looked helplessly at the others, but when he saw the fond smile Peter was giving him, he could only nod in return and go up to the stage. He drew a complete blank on what to sing until the Englishman quietly asked for _Lili Marlene_. Le Beau, who was still sitting at the piano, began to play, helping the shy young man find his voice.

Hogan nodded in time to all the music being played before him, applauding politely as each man overcame his natural shyness and took to the stage. _There's nothing shy about them on a mission_, he thought fondly, then: _But then, they don't usually have an audience when they're blowing something up._ Hogan felt the knots in his gut starting to loosen just enough for him to feel tired, and, despite his desire to stay, he was beginning to long for the quiet of his office again, where he could reflect on the good that had come out of being connected with these men, before forcing them to part. He nearly hummed along with Carter's song, but when he was almost light-hearted, a reminder of what was to come dropped the smile off his face, and he watched in silence, and regret.

Peter gave Carter a pat on the shoulder in passing as he went back onstage, going off to the side where the larger instruments were set up. He picked up the sticks that were lying on top of the drum set, then walked slowly toward Hogan. "Everyone else has had a go, gov'nor," he said quietly. "I'd really like to hear you play as well." The Corporal held the drumsticks out to the Colonel and waited for the response.

Hogan straightened in his chair and eyed the sticks warily. "I... I don't think so, Newkirk. Not tonight," he said in a low voice.

"It might be a while before I get to hear you again, sir."

Hogan continued to stare at the drumsticks. "I know, Peter, it's just that..." He paused. The sticks remained unmoving. "I don't know what to play." _And I don't have the heart to put into it._

"I've always liked Glenn Miller, even though he is a Yank." Peter paused, and smiled gently. "And an officer to boot."

Hogan pulled away from the back of chair and almost reluctantly took the sticks. "Well, then, he has some redeeming qualities." Still he didn't get up.

Neither man moved until a dissonant twang of a stringed instrument broke the tableau. When they looked up at the stage, they saw that the source of the odd sound was Kinch, who had apparently bumped the upright bass against a stool as he was setting it up. Le Beau was still at the piano, and the others had of their own accord moved to the stage and were picking up their instruments; Carter was fiddling with a trumpet, and even Tristan was experimentally working the slide on a trombone as they all got ready to accompany Hogan on the drums.

Hogan's now unexpectedly glassy eyes looked over what was happening on the stage, and helped him find the strength to stand. "Okay, Newkirk," he said as he let out a sigh. "You win." He walked up to the drum set, tapping the sticks in his palm, strangely nervous. He sat down behind the skins and flexed his fingers, then looked around him at the ersatz band. "You guys do _Anvil Chorus_?" he asked, almost hoping they'd say no.

But there was a collective nod of agreement, and so Hogan took in and let out a deep breath, and counted up to the opening. At first stiff and uncomfortable, he beat out a rhythm on the cymbals to start them off, then, as he lost himself in his playing, Hogan visibly relaxed. The song took on a life of its own, with Hogan's drumming punctuating the horns and the other instruments that had been drafted to make up this tune tonight. As the song got more intense, he found himself fully and physically into the music, shouting out loud at the drum solo and shaking his head to get a lock of dark hair out of his line of sight as he moved in time with the fast beat he was belting out. A smile curled the edges of his lips up as the horns found their high notes and everything came crashing to an end together, with his drum rolling on and on and on, until he was drained from both exertion and emotion.

Wiping his forehead with the back of his sleeve, Hogan breathed heavily, and then looked around to find the others watching him with some amazement. He stood up self-consciously. "There," he said, handing the sticks back to Newkirk as he descended the step. "That ought to hold you for awhile."

Peter took the sticks and nodded slowly. "Righto, gov'nor." _This is one night I'll never forget as long as I live._


	7. Farewell

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

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"Any trouble getting back in?" Kinch asked, as he met Newkirk at the foot of the ladder form the outside.

"No worries, mate," the Englishman said dismissively, stripping quickly out of his own jacket and handing it to the Sergeant. "Out with the Underground, in through the tunnel. They won't expect me at Stalag 6 for over two hours; then the Underground guards will say I've _just_ escaped from them. Piece of cake. I'll have plenty of time to get changed and be back out there to collect Tris. I don't know how the gov'nor managed it, but he has the magic touch with Klink, doesn't he?" He grinned in spite of himself. "Must have told him something pretty fierce about me—the old Bald Eagle couldn't wait to show me the ruddy door!"

The Englishman sat down at his costuming table in the tunnel, carefully applying makeup to his face. He'd decided to go a little heavier on the disguise than he usually did, not wanting the guards to make a connection between him and his brother. Tristan was starting to grow fond of the beard he'd been growing since he'd been shot down, so Peter stayed with the clean-shaven look, but was adding a long "dueling scar" down one side of his face. When the makeup was finally finished, he added a pair of glasses with smoked lenses to help hide the green eyes that he and his brother shared.

Peter stood and picked up the jacket of an _Oberst_ in the _Abwehr_. He normally didn't go out as a high-ranking officer; he preferred to leave that to Carter, who was so good at playing Kraut Generals that it was almost frightening. This time, however, he wasn't taking any chances with one of the guards being brave enough to argue about turning Tristan over after the truck carrying his brother had been stopped by the Underground. There were very few people in Nazi Germany today that would argue with a Colonel in any case, and when said officer was a member of Military Intelligence, the odds of getting into an argument were pretty much non-existent.

Carter watched with fascination. "I'm sure gonna miss your talent with disguises, Newkirk," he said wistfully. "You could always make me up better than anyone else could." He grinned awkwardly. "I guess Le Beau'll do it for me now. He's pretty good, you know, but I mean he's a bit heavy on the rouge." Carter let out a small, nervous laugh. "Must be a French thing. You know, all those girls."

"You'll be fine, Andrew; just remind him once in awhile that you're going out as a Nazi big-shot and not as a chorus girl at the _Follies Bergere_. And if that don't work, you can always hide the rouge pot in your lab somewhere." Peter grinned for a second. "He'd never go after it in there, as he'd never know if he was gettin' _that_ or something that was gonna blow up in his face."

"What is this about _Les Follies Bergere_?" Le Beau approached from further up the tunnel, rubbing his hands together. "Everything is all set upstairs. You should be able to go whenever you're ready."

Peter picked up the rouge pot and smiled. "Oh, nothing, Louis. Just saying that less can be more." He nodded slightly toward Carter. "Our boy here gets that lovely red apoplectic look all on his own when he starts shouting and waving his hands around that he don't need quite so much help from the makeup department, if you know what I mean."

"_Oui_, I know. I will take your advice, Pierre." Le Beau stopped and smiled at the Englishman. "On this, I will trust you. With food—you are on your own." He came up to the table. "You are almost ready?"

"I've packed me toothbrush and got these ruddy play clothes on." Peter returned the makeup to the table and finished buttoning up the German jacket. "That's about as ready as I can get."

"The Colonel says it will be time to go in a few minutes." Le Beau made sure he had Newkirk's eye. "You will be going home to London. Look after it for me, _oui_?"

Peter nodded slowly and took the glasses off to be able to look into his friend's eyes without interference. "You bet I will, little mate," he said quietly. "And I'll do what I can for Paris as well."

Kinch came downstairs then, and handed Newkirk a small parcel. "You forgot these," he said. "The Colonel said you might want them."

Opening the package, Peter looked at the contents as the memories they invoked came rushing into his mind. The deck of cards represented many long hours and literally hundreds of rounds of poker and gin, played by men trying to stave off boredom as much as possible. When they'd finally become so worn that they were useless for playing games, the cards, and the silver dollar tucked into the package with them, had taken on a new role: as tools for teaching Colonel Hogan the "tricks of the trade."

Peter thought about how all that began. They'd had a mission where one unfortunate event after another had resulted in not only the loss to the Germans of a valuable code book, but also an injury to the Englishman's hand that rendered him unable to crack the new combination on Klink's safe. During that time, Hogan had come to realize that while each of the men in his command had their own unique talents, the loss of a single man could result in disaster if someone else didn't have the necessary skills to complete the mission. After the mission, the Colonel had chosen to learn safecracking, and Peter had used these cards, and the coin, to help Hogan's hands develop the flexibility and fine muscle control necessary for that particular skill. The American's aptitude for the work had surprised Peter, and he smiled as he remembered the night he and his star pupil had sneaked out of the barracks for a graduation exercise of fiddling the lock on the Kommandant's safe. The memory of the boyish grin on Hogan's face as he got the final number was enough to make the master cracksman laugh softly as he tucked the cards and coin into his pocket.

"He's right; I would like to have them." Peter looked up at the quiet man, who from the day he had arrived in camp had been someone the hot-tempered Englishman could turn to for guidance. "Thanks, Kinch. I... don't know how I would have survived this place without you keeping me straight." He paused, thought about that and smiled. "Well, I didn't always listen, but at least you tried."

Kinch smiled and let out a soft laugh. "Well, you made sure my blood pressure was high enough to keep me moving, too," he said. He put out his hand. "Thanks, Newkirk. It's been as close as anyone could get to fun in a lousy place like this."

Peter took the offered hand, then pulled Kinch into a tight embrace, taking the opportunity to whisper into the man's ear. "Make sure you find something to laugh about each day, mate, as I expect to hear all about it when you get to London, too."

Kinch smiled, then offered Newkirk his worst English accent, on purpose. "Will do, old boy, will do."

As he stepped back, Peter rolled his eyes and grinned. "Blimey! I've told you before, leave the ruddy English accents to me, then. Your English is as bad as my French, and that's sayin' something there."

"You can say that again," Le Beau piped up.

"Who asked you anyway?" Peter turned to the Frenchman with a fond smile. "I guess this is it, little mate. Remember that you have to take care of yourself, because you've promised to show me Paris in the spring, right?"

"_Oui_," Le Beau replied, with a smile that barely concealed his emotions. "But if you do not behave yourself I will never make you a nice Béarnaise sauce again. So you do as you are told, _compris_?"

"_Oui, Monsieur Le Beau. Je compris_." The words were correct, but the accent left a lot to be desired, and Peter's smile told his oldest friend that he was all too aware of that fact. The Frenchman reached up and pulled Newkirk's head down for the traditional Gallic embrace and a kiss on each cheek, but the Englishman surprised him by returning the favor. When the friends moved apart, Newkirk grinned and pushed Le Beau's beret down over his eyes as he had done so many times in the past before turning to Carter.

"Um—don't kiss me, okay?" Carter said. "I—I'll hug ya, but I don't do the kissing thing. I guess it's cuz I'm not French."

Peter shook his head and gave Carter a gentle smile. "Andrew," he said softly. "Go to your room." The Englishman took the American in a tight hug, but kept an arm around the young man's shoulder as they moved apart. "Now you listen up, mate. Just because ol' Newkirk's not gonna be here to keep an eye on you don't mean you can go around gettin' yourself in trouble. I'm counting on Le Beau and Kinch to keep watch on you for me, and if I hear one word out of them that you're not behaving yourself, I'll have to come back and set you straight myself. You got that, then?"

Carter nodded. "I got it," he answered. "But if I mess up, will you really come back?"

"Like a shot, mate. Like a shot."

Carter grinned. "'Course, the Colonel might not like that. I mean, you know if you came back you might be disobeying orders—" He stopped when he saw the small grin lifting Newkirk's lips. "Well... I mean, that never really bothered you, did it." He smiled. "Thanks, buddy."

"Anytime, Andrew." Peter stepped back, and looked around at his friends. There was one man missing, and the Englishman sighed softly as he headed for the ladder. Kinch started to say something, but Peter waved him off. "I know it's getting on to time, but there's one more thing I have to do first."

Tristan nearly had heart failure on seeing a man in a Nazi uniform climbing through the framework of the bunk bed and stepping into the barracks until he took a second look and realized it was his brother. "Cor, Peter. You gave me quite a turn there, all kitted up that way." He glanced at his watch and frowned. "Is there a problem, then?"

The younger man shook his head as he went to the door of Hogan's office, and Tristan nodded to himself sadly. He'd stayed up in the barracks while Peter was getting ready to leave so that his brother could have some time to say his farewells in private. These were Peter's last moments with his friends, and in any case, Tristan would be meeting up with his brother in a few hours when the truck carrying him to the new prison camp was intercepted. The older Newkirk watched as Peter went into the office to say his final farewell, and sighed, knowing how hard it was going to be for both his brother and for Hogan.

Hogan gave a cursory glance up from his desk, where he was shuffling papers and doing God knew what else as he prepared for the mission at hand. "So you're ready to go? Tristan will be leaving in about an hour," he said almost offhandedly. He busied himself with another sheaf of papers, straightened a book, turned an upside down pencil in its tin can holder straight up. "You know the plan—you meet the truck and take him yourself. Make sure you have a change of clothes with you."

"I'm all set. Got my papers in case we're stopped and everything." He paused. "Nothing we haven't done a hundred times before." _Except that this is going to be the last time._

"That's right. Make sure you treat it that way," Hogan ordered tersely. "And..." Hogan paused, then looked at his English Corporal, his Devil's Advocate, his final holdout. "Make sure you let us know when you arrive safely in London. You know the code."

"I will, sir. The moment I reach London. I'll tell them I'm under orders if they give me any problems." Peter tried to smile at his Colonel, but couldn't quite bring it off. "And you know that those of us in the other ranks have to obey orders, even if they come from an officer in someone else's bloody Army."

"That'd be a first," Hogan said trying to force a smile. Finally, he stood up. "Listen, Peter, I..." He swallowed and took in and let out a breath. "I know you don't understand this. But it's what has to happen. It's your turn. Men on regular assignments aren't gone as long as you've been. And now with your brother going ahead of you..." Hogan blinked and let his eyes fall away from the Englishman. "Well, I want you to know that I'm proud of you. You've really come through—from Day One through to now—and that's..." Another shuddering breath. "It's been an honor, Newkirk. Thanks."

Peter nodded slowly and took a deep breath of his own. "We may not have seen eye to eye on everything, Colonel, but all in all, it's been a rare privilege to have served with you." The Englishman held out his hand. "I'd like to say that you're as fine a mate as one could ever hope for. You made this place bearable, and I can't thank you enough for that."

Hogan accepted the hand Newkirk offered, and gripped it tightly as the words he wanted to say got caught in his throat. "Thank you for..." His mind flew back months and years. "...for breaking me in when I got here," he finished, remembering standing in this very room, lost, still hurting, and scared, so very, very scared. His left hand came up to cover their still-tight handshake. "I think I'd forgotten what humanity sounded like, until you..." Hogan got lost in the past and stopped speaking, almost choking on the memory and what Newkirk's off-handed welcome did for him that terrible, terrible day.

"You'd have done the same for me, mate, had it been the other way around," Peter said softly as he put his free hand over their joined ones. The Englishman was silent for a long moment, then he looked up at Hogan and smiled gently. "It's been grand, gov'nor, and if you ever need my help for anything, just remember I'm only a coded message away." He released his hold on Hogan's hand and stepped back. "Take care of yourself, Papa Bear. My Nan's looking forward to meeting you after all this is over, and you don't want to disappoint her."

"I won't," Hogan said hoarsely. Taking a chance on looking deep into the Corporal's eyes, he added, "You get going now. And take care."

After a final searching look, Peter turned and left the office. He went straight across the room and put Hogan's watch on the table in front of his brother. "The gov'nor will be missing this in a couple of minutes, Tris. See that he gets it back, will you?" Resting a hand on Tristan's shoulder, he looked his brother in the eyes. "Remember, we've got an appointment on the Hammelburg Road. Just try to relax, and in a couple of hours, we'll be heading home." Then Peter smiled at Tristan, and disappeared into the tunnel.

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_It shouldn't be long before Newkirk meets the Underground_. Hogan pushed back his jacket cuff to look at his watch, and realized it wasn't there. "_Newkirk!_" he burst softly, almost like a curse. He shook his head, then frowned slightly as he felt something loose in his sleeve. He reached in and pulled out a shilling. Hogan could only stare at it for a moment as it flashed so many memories before him—Newkirk, trying to tell Hogan that the Colonel couldn't learn safecracking; Hogan, flicking it back with surprising dexterity at the Corporal; the two of them, hunched over a safe, while Hogan tried desperately to get it open before his time limit was up, or Klink came back to his office. _That will all be my job now._ Hogan's fingers closed over the coin, and for the first time since this whole mess started, he didn't think he had the strength to stop the tears from falling. He put his hand over his face, and tried to breathe in deeply to control himself. _You're doing the right thing. He deserves to go._


	8. The Best Laid Plans

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

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"Kinch, get on the radio and get Newkirk back here. _Now!_"

Kinch bolted down the ladder, not knowing what the problem was, but sure it was a big one to get Hogan so worked up. Without waiting for an explanation, he got everything working and made the call.

Upstairs, Hogan looked impatiently at his watch, trying to gauge Newkirk's approximate location on the planned truck route. Suddenly the words Tristan had said to him when the Squadron Leader had returned the timepiece echoed in his ears: _I promise you, Colonel, he'll be looked after. I suspect Peter will let me get away with almost anything, as long as I say the order was coming from you._ He dropped his arm as though that would rid him of the watch and the memory. "And what happens when he's not around to do that, Peter?" Hogan muttered aloud. "What happens when things go wrong?"

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Newkirk dropped through the tree stump that concealed the entrance to the emergency tunnel and ran into the central hub under Barracks Two, only to find it empty. He'd been worried ever since getting a radio message from Kinch telling him to return to camp. When he'd asked for more details, the only reply had been a repeat, then Kinch had signed off. He stripped off the _Abwehr_ uniform and quickly replaced it with his own, then hastily scrubbed the makeup from his face before clambering up the ladder that led through the bunk bed and into the common room of the barracks. The Englishman shook his hair from his face and looked expectantly at Hogan. "What's up, gov'nor? Did Klink cancel the transfer or something?"

Hogan stopped pacing long enough to give Newkirk a long stare. "A change of plans. I need you in the cooler."

"The cooler!" Of all the things that had been running through Newkirk's mind, the thought of landing in the cooler when he hadn't actually been up to anything lately to deserve it wasn't one of them. Still, when the Colonel asked one of his men to spend time in the camp jail, he always had a good reason for it. "Right, then. What are you telling Klink I'm supposed to have done, and then what's the _real_ plan?" He paused and gave Hogan a look. "And what's this got to do with getting Tristan out of here?"

Hogan was practically pushing him through the room. "Don't worry about that right now; the first thing we have to do is get you in there." He opened the barracks door, where one of the less-than-sympathetic guards was waiting, rifle in hand. "Here he is," Hogan said, shoving the Corporal into the guard's grasp. He tried hard to ignore Newkirk's startled look and kept up his play. "I told ya—he snuck back in here once he got away from the guards taking him to Stalag 6 so he could escape with supplies and things to keep him going. Like I told Klink—keep a close eye on him. He's bound to try and get out. Keep your very best man on it, right?"

Newkirk let out an all-too-real yelp as the guard took hold of his arm and began hauling him across the compound. "Colonel Hogan! How could you turn me in?" Still in the dark, Newkirk figured he'd better make this look good. He put up enough of a struggle against the guard's iron grip to convince anyone watching that this definitely was not his idea, and he only settled down when the German twisted his arm behind his back and applied enough pressure to cause real pain.

When the cell door clanged shut behind him, Newkirk whirled around to glare at his captor as he rubbed his shoulder. He started to voice another protest, but something in the guard's expression and the Corporal's sudden realization that this wasn't one of the "tame" guards made him think better of it. He shook his head, and dropped onto the narrow cot to wait for Hogan's next move.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Listen, Klink said you could wait outside; now wait outside!"

Newkirk could hear Hogan's voice as the Colonel worked his way down to the Englishman's cell. Finally Hogan appeared at the cell bars and looked in. "Newkirk," he called softly.

Getting to his feet and coming up to the bars that held him in the small cell, Newkirk gave Hogan an anxious look. "What's going on, Colonel? When do I get out?"

Hogan grimaced. "You don't. Not till this is sorted out."

"Gov'nor?"

Hogan shifted uncomfortably. "Look, things went bad. Before Tristan got in the truck for transfer, the Gestapo showed up and Hochstetter took him for questioning. We'll get him out, but you need to stay out of it—"

The Englishman stared at Hogan in shock as the American's words struck home, but when the Colonel said the name of the Gestapo Major, shock gave way to anger. The image of his brother in Hochstetter's hands filled Newkirk's mind, and he grabbed the bars that made up the door of his cell, yanking on them as if he could rip the door open by brute force. When it didn't budge, the sudden stream of curses and threats against the Gestapo officer's life that Newkirk uttered was enough to make Hogan take a step back from the cell until the Corporal finally wound down.

"Settle down, Newkirk!" Hogan said urgently. "This isn't going to help your brother. Now, we don't know that Hochstetter's going to do anything nasty to him, but we're not going to take any chances, either. I'm going to go out and get him, and then we'll put the plan back in action, okay?"

Newkirk's head remained against the bars where he'd leaned against them after his anger had run its course. "It's bloody well not 'okay'! You know what that bastard is capable of; how can you stand there and say that we don't know he's not gonna work my brother over?" His voice was quiet, but there was an edge to it unlike anything the Colonel had ever heard from the Englishman before. "Now get that guard back in here and get this bleedin' cell unlocked so I can go get Tristan and take him home." A pause, and the Corporal's hands took an even tighter grip on the bars. "Sir."

Hogan's surprise at the physicality of Newkirk's response was matched only by his resolve to keep the Englishman—_both _Englishmen—alive. "I'll do no such thing," he denied the man quietly. "I told you, I'm not gonna let anything happen. Now you just sit tight in there and leave it to me. Or don't you trust me to get the job done?"

"I trusted you to get Tristan out of here and send us both home. I trusted you enough to let you dump me in here without as much as a by-your-leave." Newkirk took a deep breath, letting it out slowly while he eased his hold on the bars. It was obvious that he was trying to rein in his anger, and he finally raised his head to look Hogan in the eye. "I trust you, gov'nor. I always have."

"But—?" Hogan continued for the Englishman, waiting expectantly.

"But you've got to let me out of here. Hochstetter knows you too well, he'd spot you a mile away even if you're wearing a Kraut uniform." Newkirk's face lit up as an idea came to mind, and he started speaking rapidly, as though he thought that Hogan might cut him off mid-sentence if given the chance.

"Look, I've got that _Abwehr_ Colonel's outfit all ready to go. I'll get dressed and march right in there and order the little sod to release Tristan to me, or I'll send him east in time for the ski season. After that, we can just keep right on going up to the coast and meet the sub. A few hours later, we're in London just like we planned." Newkirk paused only long enough to take a breath. "Now that's sorted, let's get this door unlocked so we can get this show on the road."

Hogan listened, growing unhappier as he listened. He appreciated Newkirk's initiative and enthusiasm, but there was at least one key element the Englishman had forgotten. He shook his head regretfully. "No, Newkirk."

"No?!" the Corporal cried.

"Think about it. Hochstetter takes your brother, and then you show up trying to get him out. Even with the uniform and the disguise, you look just like him, and now more than ever, they'll be watching for you. One quick phone call to Klink and no matter how well we try to hide it, you turn up missing. You're both tracked down and put in front of the firing squad—or worse, taken to cells so you can watch each other be tortured for information and _then_ face a firing squad. That can't happen, Newkirk. If Tristan's going to get out, it's going to be me who does it. You being here will only serve to make it that much safer for both me _and_ Tristan."

Newkirk fought down another surge of anger, trying to focus on Hogan's reasoning rather than the refusal to let him help free his brother. _He listened to what I had to say. The Colonel heard me out, but he still said no. Bloody hell, gov'nor, I can do it! I can get Tris and get the hell out of there before Hochstetter knows what's going on! _That thought ran up against Hogan's last words: _You being here will make it that much safer for me and Tristan. _He turned away from Hogan's steady gaze, this time taking several long breaths before he felt in control of himself enough to speak. "All right, Colonel Hogan. I trust you to get both my brother _and_ yourself out of Hochstetter's hands." The Englishman looked back at his commanding officer. "What are your orders, sir?"

Hogan let out a long breath and nodded respectfully. It would have to have been the hardest thing in the world to let go of, but somehow Newkirk had managed it. He wouldn't let the Englishman down. "Sit tight, and try not to worry. I'll come get you when it's all over." _And if I don't, and I fail, someone will let you out eventually._

"Sit tight?" Newkirk couldn't believe what he'd just heard. "You can't mean..." He trailed off as he studied Hogan's face closely, noting both the worry and the resolve in the man's eyes, even though they were obscured by the shadows of the bars falling across them. Then it hit him—the bars. _The Colonel had me frog-marched over here before he ever said a word about Tristan!_ The Englishman's anger flared anew as he realized what Hogan had done. "What are you playing at?! Why'd you have me thrown in the cooler in the first place? What good is gonna come from keepin' me locked up when you're gonna need all the help you can get to pull this off?"

Hogan tempered his own anger; he knew how hard it would be for Newkirk to sit back and let others rescue Tristan. But he couldn't keep all the harshness out of his voice as he replied, "I'm not playing at _anything_, Newkirk. And the reason I got you put in the cooler should be pretty obvious right now, even to _you_. And the _good_ of it, whether you want to accept it or not, is that you and your brother have a better chance of being alive at the end of the day than you do if you're _out_!"

Newkirk stared at the Colonel while Hogan's words once again echoed in his mind. _I'm going to go out and get him…. You being here will make it that much safer for me and Tristan…. Don't you trust me to get the job done?_ And he could hear his own words in reply: _I trust you, gov'nor. I always have. _

That was what it all came down to in the end: either he trusted Hogan, or he didn't. Once that thought hit home, Newkirk realized that it wasn't Hogan he was angry with, and he lowered his head, suddenly ashamed of the way he'd been acting. "You're right," he said quietly. He slowly brought his head up again, his eyes meeting Hogan's. "I trust you to take care of Tristan. Please, gov'nor... bring him back for me."

Hogan nodded, sensing the shift in Newkirk's mood even before the words came. "I will, Newkirk," he said quietly. "I promise."

As Hogan walked away, Newkirk leaned against the bars, eyes closed, until the echo of the Colonel's footsteps faded. Silence reigned in the cooler as the Englishman took a seat on the small cot, leaning forward with his elbows braced on his knees. Thoughts of his brother, and the danger Hogan was putting himself into for Tristan's sake, filled his thoughts until the heavy foot falls of the guard broke the stillness. The German came to a stop in front of the cell and knocked his rifle butt against the bars, laughing as Newkirk jumped slightly at the sudden noise.

The Englishman glared at the guard and muttered a few choice words under his breath about the German's probable ancestry, then deliberately turned his back to the man, lying down on the cot facing the wall. He pulled the single thin blanket up over his shoulders and closed his eyes even as the guard rattled the bars again. This time, though, Newkirk was expecting it and didn't move, which drew a curse from the German as he stomped off down the narrow hallway to his post.

Relief at being left alone quickly gave way to the realization that he was in for a long wait, and Newkirk sighed as he shifted around a bit, trying to find the least uncomfortable place on the small cot. All he could think about was what Tristan might be going through even now, and about how much danger Hogan and the rest of his friends would be putting themselves in while he was trapped in the cooler. Those thoughts made the Englishman angry once again, only this time, it was a brooding anger that hadn't been calmed any by the guard's obvious enjoyment of his situation. But now, his anger was focused on the man who had started the whole thing: Major Hochstetter.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan walked into the barracks, accepting the wide-eyed looks of his men, and ignoring them as he headed for the stove and poured himself a cup of old coffee. "We'll get Tristan out," he said to the cup, leaving his back facing the others.

Le Beau looked up at Hogan from his seat at the table. "It will not be easy to take him from the Gestapo, _mon Colonel_, but we will do it all the same."

"Sure we will." Kinch nodded slowly, but whether he was agreeing with Le Beau, or simply trying to convince himself, was hard to say. "I mean, he's not the first guy we've taken right out from under their noses."

Carter didn't say anything for few moments, as he'd sat quietly staring at the worn deck of cards that lay on the table. Finally he raised his head and looked at the others. "I'm glad we're gonna go after him, and not just because he's a real nice guy and all, even if he is Peter's brother." The young Sergeant smiled briefly at his own joke, but it faded as he went on. "I'm glad because nobody should be left at the mercy of men like Major Hochstetter and his gang. But Colonel," he turned his gaze on Hogan's face, "what about Newkirk? I mean our Newkirk, that is. Why is he still in the cooler?"

"Because that's where he's safest," Hogan replied shortly. "I'll be in my office, working this out. Be ready to go, tonight. _Abwehr_ uniforms for everyone."

"Okay, Colonel. What ranks, and..." Kinch trailed off, then decided he had to ask so they'd know what to plan for. "And is Newkirk going along?"

"Don't worry about Newkirk. Just give the rest of us enough rank to make them sweat at Gestapo Headquarters."

The black Sergeant nodded, and swallowed his disappointment that he wasn't able to go along on this mission. Still, he had a role to play, and he was going to do everything he could to help the others as much as possible. "Got it. Okay, how about Majors Le Beau and Carter... and a quick promotion to General for you, sir?"

"That'll do nicely," Hogan replied. "Kinch, we're going to need your electrical expertise out there tonight. And make sure we have a truck. We're going to have a prisoner to take with us, and it wouldn't do to tell them we have to walk him to Berlin." And he turned and disappeared behind his door.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan glanced over at the guard near the entrance to the cooler and nodded that all was well. Grudgingly, but under orders of the Kommandant, the soldier left Hogan to speak alone with Newkirk, and moved toward the main door of the building. Hogan looked through the bars to see the Corporal lying back on the bunk with his hands clasped tightly behind his head, staring at the ceiling, a sullen look on his face.

Hogan considered what he was about to ask of the man in a few minutes, then shrugged to himself and called out softly, "Hey, Newkirk."

"Come to check up on me, have you, sir?" The Englishman didn't move as he spoke. "Well, as you can see, I'm still here."

"I knew you would be," Hogan said, noting the slight irritation in the Englishman's voice; "I made sure you got the cell without the tunnel attachment."

"I thought I noticed your fine hand in the choice of my accommodations." Newkirk still didn't move. "I'm also rather surprised you didn't have me hand over a few bits and pieces as well." He frowned even more as he thought about the assortment of lock picks and other escape devices he habitually carried, and about how they could have been put to good use, except that he'd agreed to remain in the cell. "It's not as if you don't ruddy well know I've got them."

Hogan absorbed the sarcasm in silence. "That's why our best friend Bruno is the guard. I didn't think I'd need to get your equipment from you then." He paused and waited for the fallout.

"You asked me to sit tight and trust you to take care of Tristan for me." Newkirk went quiet, and just when it seemed he had nothing else to say, he continued. "Looks as though you've asked for trust when you've got none in return." Another silence. "I know that I've dodged my share of orders, Colonel, but have I not always come through when it really counts?"

Hogan shook his head unhappily. "Look, I didn't know how you'd react when I told you the news. I couldn't take a chance that you'd go storming out of here without thinking. It wouldn't do your brother any good if you got yourself killed. And even after you made your promise to leave it to me… well, look, if it was _my_ brother I don't know that I could hold to that promise for very long, either. I wasn't going to take a chance, Newkirk. You're too important."

Newkirk didn't say anything, nor did he move as he thought it over. Suddenly, he rose from the cot and took the few swift steps needed to reach the bars. He studied Hogan's face for a long moment before looking the Colonel in the eyes. "You're right, gov'nor," he said quietly. "I would have taken off after Tristan if you hadn't stopped me, and I probably would have gotten both of us killed in the process. I've had time to think it over in here, and though I bloody well don't like it... I give you my word that I won't try it on my own. There's too much at stake, not only for Tris, but for you and my other mates as well. Getting my brother out without anyone else getting hurt along the way is important, sir." Newkirk shook his head slowly. "I'm _not_."

Hogan frowned as he looked at the Englishman. "You are, Newkirk. You're important to Tristan. And to Le Beau, and to Carter, and to Kinch. And you're important to me. And I won't let you do anything that will put you at risk any more than I have to. I'm gonna talk to Klink and get you moved to another cell—I'll tell him this one's too drafty, against the Geneva Convention or some such nonsense that he'll buy because I was so cooperative about asking for you to be put here in the first place. And then you'll come out through the tunnel and we'll get moving. Tristan will be out _tonight_."


	9. Heading In

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text and original characters wordybirds. Thanks

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"Blimey, Carter! Hold still or I'll never get this moustache on straight!"

"I can't help it; it tickles." Carter was squirming as Newkirk tried once again to put the finishing touches on his disguise. Carter's hair had already been darkened with dye, then parted down the middle and slicked into place. The long, thin moustache, when it was finally in place, would turn Carter's lean face into something suitably saturnine for the task at hand—that was, if Newkirk could ever get it on him.

"Oh, for the love of... Louis, come over here and hold his head still so I can get this done before breakfast." Newkirk looked at the Frenchman and grinned as he caught sight of the deep scar he'd applied to Le Beau's face. "You know, mate, that scar gives you a lovely sort of sneering look without you even trying. In fact, if you work it right, it'll play right into that ruddy arrogant look those _Abwehr_ types always seem to have."

Hogan adjusted the collar on his dress jacket, grateful for the warmth of the German uniform in the cold, dank tunnel. "Don't make them look too authentic, Newkirk, or they'll be recruited to the other side before we have a chance to snatch them back." He looked down and frowned. "Not dressy enough. Any extra medals floating around we can use? This is going to take a lot of brass."

Newkirk didn't look away from his work on Carter, but he nodded absently as he answered. "Check that uniform I had on earlier, Colonel. There ought to be a few bits of costume jewelry on it that you can use."

"Right." Hogan made his way down to the rack of clothes and found the uniform Newkirk referred into discarded carelessly on the floor. At first bemused, Hogan realized that had probably happened because he had called Newkirk back without explanation, and he had been anxious to find out what was going on. Sighing, Hogan reached down for the uniform, pushing out of the way a canvas sack that was lying on top of it. He heard a wooden clatter as it toppled over, and he paused, curious, then looked back at the bag. Hogan's frown changed as he saw a long, slim stick poking out the top of the sack, and he recognized the item as a drumstick. _**My** drumstick_, he thought fondly, pulling it out, and its companion that easily slipped out through the opening in the sack, and he thought back to the last evening in the Rec Hall, and how it had seemed so important to Newkirk at the time that Hogan be involved, and doing something that he loved and excelled at. Hogan squeezed the sticks together in his hands, proud of the man he was going to send home, aware of the fact that he was losing a friend by doing so, and both grateful and grieving that it was in his power to decide to do that. He tucked the sticks back into the sack, then forced himself to look back at the uniform Newkirk had sent him here for, and found other baubles to wear, to help bring Tristan back to safety.

Kinch came into the central hub of the tunnel, dressed in head to toe black and carrying a rolled up tool kit. He stopped dead in his tracks as he stared at the three ersatz Germans, amazed at the remarkable transformations his friends had undergone at Newkirk's hands. Le Beau and Carter looked great, but it was clear to him that Hogan's disguise had taken a lot of time and thought, and Kinch wasn't sure he would have known the Colonel until the man spoke.

Newkirk had dyed Hogan's already dark hair coal-black, and extended and filled in the Colonel's sideburns. Then he sprinkled in a generous dose of grey that, along with the lines and shadows painted onto his face, made Hogan look at least twenty years older. The padding Newkirk had inserted made Hogan appear almost slouched, as though he were struggling to carry the extra forty pounds the Corporal had decided the Colonel needed in order to remain unrecognizable.

Kinch whistled and shook his head. "Man, you guys look good enough to shoot."

"Why, thank you, Kinch." Newkirk finally put down the makeup brushes and nodded for Le Beau to let Carter loose. "That's the nicest thing you've said about me work in weeks."

"I don't know how I'm going to manage as an old man one day," Hogan said, wiggling a bit in his uniform. "My back's already killing me just trying to _stand _in this thing—remind me not to gain weight when I get this old for real, would ya? I don't know how Schultz does it!"

"Carefully, I'd expect." Newkirk glanced at Hogan and frowned. "Where's it bothering you, gov'nor?" he asked as he started going over the way the uniform jacket lay over the padding he'd put in place to change the Colonel's appearance.

"Mainly in my ego," Hogan replied, shrugging off the fussing. "You've done it too well; I can see myself turning into this one day, and it's scaring me half to death." He turned to Le Beau and Carter, who were gathering their weapons. "Come on, let's keep moving. We don't want to waste a precious second. Newkirk, how long will it take you to get ready?"

"Half a tick, sir." Newkirk had done his own makeup before starting on the others, as all he needed was to add in a week's growth of beard that his brother would have. While he'd been working on the others, Kinch had dug around in the cache of Allied uniforms they'd been collecting from the numerous escapees that had come through the tunnels, and he'd found the pieces needed for Newkirk's own disguise. With his work done, the Corporal pulled on the long-tailed officer's jacket with the three black and silver stripes around the cuff that denoted a Squadron Leader's rank.

A low whistle was his reward when he turned around. Hogan grinned. "Well, I'll be damned," he said in a low voice. "You know, Newkirk? You almost look respectable. I'm half-tempted to salute you myself. But then this padding would move and I'd kill myself." He shook his head. "The resemblance is amazing. If this doesn't work tonight, I'm taking back everything I've said about the stupidity of the Krauts."

"Hey, Newkirk," Kinch said offhandedly as he settled the sling of his machine pistol over his shoulder, "impersonating an officer is a court-martial offense in your Army just like it is in mine."

"All he'd have to do is convince his brother to get into a Corporal's gear for a few minutes and he'd be clear." Hogan bowed slightly, then stopped when the padding got in the way. He grimaced. "Damned overweight Krauts." He gestured grandly toward the new "officer" among them. "We are here to do your bidding, sir."

Carter grinned as Le Beau continued laughing so hard he nearly fell into the young American. "Gee, Louis, do you think we oughta salute him?"

Le Beau broke into a fresh round of laughter. "Salute him? _Him?_ That would be like kissing Hitler on the lips!" He bent double, overjoyed with his own joke. "_Monsieur le_ Squadron Leader… we only have one problem, sir!"

Newkirk made a face at the idea of touching Hitler with anything except a bullet, then put a serious expression on his face that was spoiled only by the grin that kept trying to break out anyway. "Yes, Corporal?" he asked in his most upper-crust accent. "What seems to be the trouble?"

"We will never escape from _les Boches_—because we will be so busy laughing at you that we will forget to run away!"

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Okay, this is it. Stick to the plan, and remember, when the lights go out, we grab Tristan, and Le Beau, you get him out of here—and fast. By the time Hochstetter and his goons figure it out, you'll be gone and we'll all be on our merry way." With one last appraising look at his men, Hogan stepped out of the truck and marched boldly up the front steps of Gestapo Headquarters, and, now fully in character, not looking behind him to make sure his lackeys were following him.

Hogan whipped open the heavy door and strode in past the flabbergasted guard posted there without looking, the tails of his long coat flowing behind him as he made his way to the main desk, where a young, fresh-faced soldier was keeping watch on people coming and going. "I must see Major Hochstetter immediately," he said to the poor man, who had already started to cower when he saw the look on this officer's face. "Get that fool for me at once!"

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Kinch glanced at Newkirk and gave him a quick thumbs-up before melting into the darkness of the alley that ran behind the headquarters building. After making sure the Sergeant had vanished, the ersatz Squadron Leader made his way to the small park across the street where he could keep an eye on the front of the building. He watched Hogan and the others clatter their way up the steps, and had to hold back a laugh when he saw the expression on the guard's face as the Colonel passed him without a glance. _I should be up there with him instead of Carter_. _The gov'nor's right, though. I look far too much like Tristan, even in German uniform, to walk in and try to brazen it out._ Newkirk sighed, and resigned himself to wait while the others put their lives on the line.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Kinch slinked down the alley, staying in the shadows as he worked his way along the back of the building, searching for the spot where the main power lines were connected. When he found them, he crouched behind a parked _kubelwagon_ and took a moment to simply stare at the setup. _Oh isn't this just great. The damned lines are hooked up at the second storey, and right out in the open._ His eyes traveled slowly down the long balcony attached to the rear of the building until he found a place at the very center where the stonework gave way to a stretch of decorative ironwork.

_Okay. All I need is a boost so I can grab onto that open railing and climb over. Then I sneak down the balcony and cut the wire. Piece of cake. Now, what can I use to give myself a lift? Don't suppose the local fire company would lend me a ladder? Not a chance._

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"I am sorry, _Herr_ General, but the Major cannot be disturbed." The young man tried to sound confident, but it was clear from the look on his face that this was not truly the case.

"_What did you say?_" Hogan's voice rose an octave as his volume increased with it.

Le Beau spoke up in an amused tone from beside and slightly behind him. "Is it possible, _Herr_ General, that he does not know who you are?"

Carter barked out a short laugh. "_Not know?_ Who could not know General Heinrich von Scherer?"

He and Le Beau both broke into great peals of laughter. Hogan shot them both a severe look which stopped them mid-chortle. "Sorry, _Herr_ General," Le Beau muttered, lowering his eyes and coming to attention.

"That will do, Rinehart. Do you think it is _funny_ that my honor has been _insulted_ in such a way?"

"Of course not, _Herr_ General."

Hogan stole a quick glance at the German Corporal behind the desk, who was watching this exchange, wide-eyed. Then he turned back to the pair with him and let out his rage. "All the _Abwehr_ knows me… and this lowly Gestapo Corporal should be _worshipping_ me! But he does not _know_ me! _How_ _can this be?_"

"I am sure he must be new, _Herr_ General. Yes, he must be _new_," Carter said hastily, nodding and gesturing clandestinely at the Corporal.

The young man took the hint. "_Jawohl, Herr_ General. I am new here. I have only been here for three weeks. I—I have not had the chance before to—"

Hogan turned a gentle smile toward the soldier. "Ah," he said, his voice soft and warm. "I remember being new myself. Very well, then, Corporal. Perhaps you will do me the favor of getting your Major Hochstetter, then. Surely you can do that for me, can't you? It _is _Hochstetter in charge here, is it not?" he asked, turning to Carter and Le Beau. "Wasserman, what happened to the last man who was here—what was his name—Skull?"

"Schell, sir. You had him sent to the Eastern Front," Carter replied.

Hogan nodded sagely and turned back to the desk soldier. "Ah, yes, Schell. He was… how shall we put it?... he was not as enthusiastic to do what he was told as I know _you_ no doubt are, Corporal."

The young Corporal swallowed nervously and nodded as he picked up his desk phone and dialed. "F-forgive me for disturbing you, _Herr_ Major—" He winced and held the handset away from his ear as a very sharp comment could be heard coming from the speaker. Feeling very much trapped between the proverbial rock and a hard place, the Corporal gathered himself and brought the phone back to his ear.

"_Jawohl_, _Herr _Major, I understand, but there is a General Heinrich von Scherer here to see you, sir." A pause while he listened to the reply. "_Jawohl_, General von Scherer, sir. He is with the _Abwehr_, sir." Another pause. "_Jawohl_, _Herr _Major. Right away, sir. The Corporal hung up the phone and stood. "If you would come with me, please, _Herr_ General?"

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

After a careful survey of the alley, Kinch shook his head. _Man, this has got to be the cleanest alley I've ever been in! No trash cans, no empty crates stored out here. Nothing around that's handy to climb up on, but then again, maybe that's the idea. _A light mounted over the back door of the building made it easy to read his watch, and he frowned. _The guys should be in Hochstetter's office by now, and I'm not even close to being ready!_

The Sergeant moved deeper into the shadows beside the car, and took a seat on the running board to think. _Right then_. Despite himself, Kinch smiled at his own thoughts. _Guess I've been hanging around Newkirk too long; I'm starting to sound like him. Hmm... what is it he always says about breaking into a building? Oh yeah: you've gotta make use of whatever you find lying around so that nothing looks out of place even if you have to move it. Well, that's fine, Peter, except there's nothing lying around in this alley!_

Leaning back against the cold metal of the car door, Kinch closed his eyes and tried to clear his head. After a few seconds, his eyes snapped open and he slid from his seat, grinning as he twisted around to look at the heavy German staff car.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"A little bit faster to come to attention next time, Major!" Hogan reprimanded as Wolfgang Hochstetter greeted his unexpected visitors. "I am not used to waiting for respect from my inferiors."

Hochstetter offered the General the stiff-armed Nazi salute with the obligatory "_Heil_ Hitler," and while the Gestapo Major bristled at being referred to as an "inferior," he smoothly got himself under control and favored his visitor with a brisk nod and a quick "_Jawohl_, _Herr_ General," in reply. Hochstetter remained behind his desk and gestured toward the chair in front of it. "Please, sit down, sir. How may the Gestapo be of assistance to the _Abwehr_ this evening?"

"I don't have time to _sit down_, Hochstetter. I am a very busy man, _always _on my feet, _always_ thinking. That is the _problem _with you young upstarts today—think you can get everywhere with force but not much brainpower! Well, let me tell you, Major, there's more to being a successful officer than a bit of muscle." Hogan had been waving his gloves around and pacing impatiently in front of the Major's desk during his tirade. Now, he turned a piercing eye toward Hochstetter. "I believe you arrested an RAF officer at Stalag 13 earlier today, did you not?"

"_Jawohl_, _Herr_ General. A... hmm..." Hochstetter trailed off as he looked among the papers on his desk for the file he'd started on the RAF officer. He knew exactly what the prisoner's name was, but he was using the time to think. _How could the Abwehr possibly know about this so quickly? There must be a leak within this building. When I find it, heads will roll!_ Outwardly composed, but inwardly seething with rage, the Major opened the folder and looked at the top page. "Ah, here it is. Squadron Leader Tristan Newkirk is his name, sir."

Hogan shook his head, appearing to be amused. He turned to his companions. "Do you hear that, Wasserman? He believes he is holding Squadron Leader Tristan Newkirk." Hogan laughed, and Carter picked up the cue and let out a giggle, as well. Then they both looked at Le Beau and he started laughing, too, until the noise was driving Hochstetter to the breaking point.

Hochstetter gritted his teeth to keep himself from making any sort of comment in reply. Instead, he picked up an envelope that had been lying on the folder and shook its contents out onto his desktop. A pair of oblong brass tags, strung together on a cord, clinked together as they landed on the polished wood surface, and a folded card slid over within the General's reach. "His identification card and tags, _Herr_ General. Both appear to be genuine, and both identify him as Squadron Leader Newkirk."

Hogan felt a wave of dizziness as his eyes lit on the dog tags. There was blood on them—which told the Colonel that the Englishman had met with some of Hochstetter's typical treatment. "That is—" he started, almost uncertain. He stopped, swallowed, and composed himself inwardly before starting again. "I have no doubt that is who you brought in, Hochstetter," he said, his voice now dangerously low. Le Beau and Carter exchanged a quick glance at their commanding officer's sudden change in demeanor. "I see you had to prove he was alive by spilling some of his blood." He breathed in deeply. "I am saying, you fool, that you do not have this man _now_."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

After a look around to see that he was still undetected, Newkirk took a quick glance at his watch and nodded to himself. _Right then. The lights should be going out any time now, then the fun begins._ He turned his attention back to the building, keeping a close eye on the window of Hochstetter's office. _Hang in there, Tris. We'll have you out soon, I promise._

Newkirk removed the peaked officer's cap he wore, and wiped the sweat from his forehead. It was a cool evening, but the waiting was getting on his nerves. _Maybe I should go round and see if Kinch needs any help_. Newkirk took a deep breath and shook his head. _No. I've got to stay put so I'm in place for my part of things. I just wish... _He glanced at his watch again and frowned. _Come on, Kinch! It's time for those bloody lights to go out!_

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan glanced surreptitiously at Le Beau, who stole a look at his watch and almost invisibly shook his head. _Not time yet_. Hogan rolled his eyes to the ceiling and turned back to Hochstetter. "My man Rinehart here has received several reports from civilians and from patrols that a man fitting the description of this Squadron Leader Newkirk has been seen running around the woods in the vicinity."

Hochstetter's coloring started to change even as his hands shook. "That is impossible!" he burst. Hogan raised an eyebrow and the Major watered down the rest of his response. "Begging your pardon, General, but the prisoner is where he has been for most of the day—in his cell."

"Is that so?" Hogan replied in his haughtiest voice. He pushed his fingers arrogantly into his coat pocket and secretly fingered the service tags he had lifted from the desk as the group left Hochstetter's office. "Judging from the blood, his room must be rather messy."

"Well, he was removed for interrogation, _Herr_ General."

"And now? Is he even conscious?"

"Certainly, _Herr_ General," Hochstetter replied with a frown. "We simply… used a little persuasiveness to loosen his tongue when he first arrived. He is not very talkative."

_That's good to hear_, Hogan thought. "Clearly all you did was persuade him to escape."

"I assure you, General von Scherer, the Squadron Leader is safely locked up."

Another look at Le Beau. A minute nod. "Are you calling my man a liar?" Hogan asked with some anger. Hochstetter started to respond but was cut off. "Show me to this cell. You will see for yourself how wrong you are. And then you will send your men out to help me find him!"

Hochstetter could only nod, and lead the men out of the office.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

_Man! This thing is heavy!_ Kinch set himself and pushed again, finally getting the massive staff car to start rolling toward the headquarters building. For once, the vaunted German engineering was on his side, as the driver's door of the _kubelwagon_ not only opened backward, it also folded flat against the body of the vehicle, making it easy for Kinch to both push the car and to reach in so he could use the steering wheel to keep it on course.

Just when he was about to climb up on top of the vehicle, Kinch was surprised by the sound of voices and a door opening on the balcony. _Gotta get out… gotta get out **now**!_

Knowing he didn't have time to make it back into the shadows along the side of the building, Kinch dove into the front seat of the _kubelwagon_ and pulled the door closed, thankful that the car's retractable top was up, giving him a perfect place to hide. A sharp metallic click, followed by the pungent scent of burning tobacco, told the Sergeant exactly what was happening on the balcony even though he couldn't see the men. _Wonderful._ Kinch looked at his watch, then bit his lip in frustration. _Just wonderful! I'm already behind schedule and those two jokers are on a smoke break!_

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"I assure you, _Herr_ General, that this is all quite unnecessary. The prisoner Newkirk is safely locked in his cell, and I have a guard posted at the end of this hall in case of trouble." Hochstetter stopped at a wall-mounted box, took a ring of keys from his pocket and used one of them to unlock the box. Taking out a larger set of iron keys, he locked the box and proceeded down the hall. "But I of course have no objection if you wish to see this for yourself."

Hogan nodded arrogantly. "Of course I wish to see this for myself," he said. "Which cell is the Englishman's?"

Hochstetter stopped in front of a cell and nodded. "This one, _Herr_ General." Narrow beams of brilliant light came from around the edges of the door and stabbed into the dimly lit hallway. He indicated the view port and smiled coldly. "Would you care to have a look?"

Hogan saw the light and frowned, his mind bringing his own memories to the fore and knowing all too well what was happening in that cell. _The bright lights treatment. When are they gonna realize that just stops us from paying attention to anything they might ask us?_ He shook his head. "I suppose you have not given any consideration to the fact that if I look through that tiny little hole you have there, Major Hochstetter, that I will be damaging my own sight? From the way that light is penetrating the door the bulbs must be facing in this direction. I am hardly as foolish as to stare straight into a bare bulb. Besides, I would hardly be able to see the prisoner, and you could have any man in there pretending to be your Tristan Newkirk." He snorted. "I wouldn't put it past the Gestapo to have one of their own men sitting in there, just to avoid someone finding out about their own incompetence!"

Hochstetter started spluttering as Hogan turned to Carter. "Wasserman, when does the next train leave for the Eastern Front?" he asked.

Carter grinned and looked at his watch. "Well, _Herr_ General, it is exactly eleven-oh-four," he began; "I believe there is one leaving at oh-six-hundred from Hammelburg."

Hogan groaned inwardly. Four minutes late—no lights out yet. What the hell was going on? He nodded. "_Herr_ Major," he said, turning back to Hochstetter, "I suggest you show Wasserman where he can turn those lights out, otherwise it sounds like you will have a very early journey to take. Give your keys to _Stabsfeldwebel _Rinehart here and let him make sure that your prisoner is truly who you say."

It was at times like this that Hogan was grateful for the ability of his men to communicate without words and almost without gestures. Le Beau immediately stepped forward and held his hand out for the keys, while Carter snapped to attention, clearly expecting Hochstetter to lead him to the light switches. Hogan himself stood ramrod straight, staring down the Major.


	10. A daring rescue

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

_Finally! I was beginning to think they'd **never** go back inside!_ A quick look at his watch told Kinch he was now four minutes behind schedule. _Damn! I hope Colonel Hogan's been able to keep a lid on things._ Kinch reached up, grabbed the bottom of the ornate ironwork and hauled himself hand over hand until he was able to scramble over the railing. The moment the Germans had gone back into the building, he had slid out of the car and climbed onto the trunk. That gave him enough of a boost to be able to reach the balcony, and the Sergeant took full advantage of his natural athletic ability to do the rest. Safely over the rail, he paused at the door to listen. _Well, it seems pretty quiet in there, so I'll just have to do what I came to do and hope everyone else can pick up the pieces._

Kinch made his way silently to the power junction box, unrolled his tool case, and got to work.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hochstetter wanted to scream. He wanted to toss this arrogant General onto the street for the things he was saying, but when one was only a Major, one had to take whatever a General handed one. So he squared his jaw and kept his mouth shut. Barely. The fact that this part of the hall was warmer than the rest had nothing to do with the sweat trickling down his face as he thrust the keys into Le Beau's hand and stepped away from the door. "There," he growled. "See for yourself."

Le Beau closed his fingers around the keys and looked at Hogan with barely concealed panic. Hogan simply raised his chin and continued taking measured breaths. Finally the Frenchman turned back to the Gestapo officer and started heading for the cell behind him. Moving as slowly as possible, Le Beau tried to keep a steady hand as he raised the key to the lock and inserted it. He paused and turned back to Hogan once more, dreading unlocking the door.

For a moment Hogan did nothing. Le Beau blinked hard and tried to breathe calmly as he heard the click of the lock and began reluctantly to open the door. Then all of a sudden, a hand from behind pushed the door shut. Startled, Le Beau followed the arm and found that Hogan had closed it before anyone was able to see inside.

The Colonel's voice echoed through the corridor. "I think it's time you learned something from your superiors, Hochstetter," he said. Le Beau nearly fainted with relief. Hogan turned to Carter again. "Wasserman, go out and bring in our prisoner."

At that, Carter lost all possible thought patterns. He had no idea what Hogan was up to. Bring Newkirk in? With the lights on, and with Tristan clearly still in the cell? How was that going to help? Heck, it might even make it worse! "But sir, why do you want me to—"

Hogan stopped the Sergeant's confused rambling before he gave them all away. "Do not question my orders, _Hauptmann_ Wasserman!" he snapped. "You are to go out and bring in the prisoner," he growled, "_no matter how long it takes!_" Hogan stressed each word as he nodded slowly, his eyes locking on Carter's to ensure the young man understood his orders.

Carter furrowed his brow, then accepted Hogan's look and nodded. "_Jawohl_, _Herr _General," he said, saluting almost obsessively. "If it takes me all night!"

"Don't let it take you that long," Hogan said pointedly.

Carter took off. Hogan turned back to Hochstetter. "Now we shall see how little the Gestapo knows about how to keep prisoners in their cells." He looked around him, almost casually. "Hochstetter, get me the file on the prisoner. I will need to take it with me. And get me a cup of coffee to wake me up; I grow weary having to deal with such ineptness."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Newkirk!" came the whisper, loud in the quiet of the trees in the park.

"Here, mate!" came a soft whisper in reply, as Newkirk cautiously peered through the bushes concealing his hiding place.

Carter came ambling over and disappeared into the brush with his friend. "The lights aren't out yet. The Colonel sent me out to find you."

"Well I can see that the bleedin' lights aren't out yet, Carter. What's going on in there?" Newkirk grabbed the American by the arm, pulling him close enough so they could speak in whispers. "Is everyone all right then? What about Tristan?"

Carter shrugged. "I think he's okay. Hochstetter still has him in his cell. We were gonna have to open the door without the lights out when the Colonel sent me here for you. But he wants me to take my time. I don't know what's going on with Kinch."

Newkirk eyed the headquarters building again. "He's still behind there, and I've not heard any sort of row, so he hasn't been caught." _I hope. _

"I'm not sure how long we should stall," Carter worried. "Things were getting pretty hot and bothered in there. But boy, you should have seen the way the Colonel was razzing Hochstetter. Calling him inferior, telling him the Gestapo has no idea what it's doing." Carter stopped and grinned. "Y'know? I think he was almost having _fun_!"

"He was, mate. He was," Newkirk said quietly, but with a smile playing around on his face all the same. _How many times have I seen him brace an entire roomful of Nazis by acting totally insane? Of course, a time or two, I wasn't sure it was all acting._ A glance at his watch told Newkirk they were now six minutes off schedule. He sighed as he looked back to Carter. "How long do we stall? For as long as it takes, Andrew." _Or until something happens—good or bad._

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Keeping Le Beau on the alert in case Hochstetter or the guard at the end of the corridor came back, Hogan quickly went up to the cell door and pulled open the view port. "Tristan!" he whispered hoarsely. "Tristan, it's Colonel Hogan! Can you hear me?"

In the blinding white light that flooded the cell, Hogan could see Newkirk seated in a hard wooden chair with his hands pulled behind his back. Tristan's uniform was soaked with sweat, and even with his head hanging low, the Colonel saw that blood dripped freely from a long, thin cut on the side of the Squadron Leader's face. Tristan didn't move when Hogan spoke, but it was hard to tell if he was unconscious or simply didn't hear.

Hogan tried again. "Newkirk! Newkirk, it's Hogan! Are you all right? We're gonna come in for you soon!"

Tristan slowly raised his head and looked blankly toward the source of the sound. The glaring light stabbed into his eyes, and he closed them quickly. _I thought I heard... but no, it can't be him, not here. Besides, I clearly heard that right rhubarb Hochstetter out there just now, so there's no way that Hogan could be here as well. It's just another trick. _Taking a breath, he gathered himself and spoke. "Newkirk, Tristan. Squadron Leader, Royal Air Force. Service number 024586."

Hogan sighed, frustrated and distressed. "I don't need to hear that, soldier. Listen to me. It's Hogan, from Stalag 13. We saw Hochstetter's goons take you from camp, and we're going to get you out. Just play along with us, okay?" No answer. Hogan got the impression somehow that despite the less than perfect physical condition Tristan was in, that it was doubt and not illness that was stopping him from responding the way Hogan wanted him to. "Look, if you play along, I'll do you another round of _Anvil Chorus_ before I send you back to England, all right?" he added. "And you can make sure your brother gives me back my drumsticks!"

Tristan had already started to turn away when Hogan added his comment about playing _Anvil Chorus_. _Blimey! Peter said he could pull off the impossible, but I ruddy well never would have believed Hogan would waltz right into Gestapo Headquarters like this!_ He looked back toward the door, squinting against the light as he tried to see where the Colonel was. "I'll hold you to that," he whispered softly in reply. "What's the plan, sir?"

"Play along with me and you'll be out of there in no time. Just don't be surprised by anything you see, got it?"

"I'll be ready."

Hogan nodded, though he knew Newkirk couldn't see him. "Just sit tight. How badly are you hurt? Can you walk?"

Instead of answering right away, Tristan eased his arms free of the chair back and rested them across his knees. A set of handcuffs dangled from one arm, and the other wrist and hand were covered with painful-looking scrapes. A brief grin crossed his face despite the developing bruises and split lip he was sporting, and though he didn't open his eyes, he looked back at the door and nodded briefly. "I could handle a turn or two round the park, sir, provided Jerry doesn't raise too strong an objection."

Hogan grinned. All Newkirks were alike. "If we handle this right, they won't even be looking for you. Just be ready to go at my signal." A quick signal from Le Beau indicated their time for talk was finished. "Now conserve your strength. You're going to need it."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hochstetter had gone up to the second storey, where the small kitchen was located. He'd found a fresh pot of coffee had just been made by two of the office clerks who had slipped out onto the balcony for a cigarette break. Furious at the high-handed treatment he was getting from General von Scherer, Hochstetter had taken part of his temper out on the hapless clerks as he angrily ordered them back to work. After they left, the Major had seized a cup, but then had found himself flinging it across the room to smash into the far wall. A second cup followed the first, until Hochstetter felt in control of himself enough to begin assembling a tray.

A nervous orderly looked into the kitchen on hearing the breaking crockery and was surprised to see the Major putting a coffee service together himself. "E-excuse me, _Herr_ Major. May I be of some assistance?"

The Gestapo officer spun around on hearing the voice, then nodded. "_Ja_, you may. Finish this, then bring it to the cell block. You are to wait at the end of the hall for my instructions." Hochstetter gave the orderly an intense stare, one clearly intended to drive his next words home. "And if you ever breathe one word of anything you see or hear down there, you will beg me to have you shot before I am finished with you. Understood?"

The stare worked. The orderly, always nervous in the officer's presence, could only nod and stammer out a reply as he finished the tray with shaking hands. Hochstetter swept past the man and out to retrieve the demanded file. The orderly followed him, then waited at the end of the hall leading to the cellblock, while the Major approached his unwanted visitors.

Hogan had whirled at the first sound of footsteps, and was now standing almost casually beside Le Beau. As Hochstetter rounded the corner, he straightened and looked with disdain at the Major. "You certainly took your time, Hochstetter," he said. He reached out and practically snatched the folder away from the German. "I'll take that." Then, seeing the man devoid of anything resembling coffee, he added, "And where is this refreshment? Or do you need a _hausfrau_ to show you how to brew a simple cup of coffee?"

"Of course not, _Herr _General." Hochstetter smiled ingratiatingly through gritted teeth and gestured down the hall to the orderly. "I have brought the coffee as you requested, sir. I thought perhaps the General would like to take it in my office instead of standing around in this dismal hallway."

Hogan smirked with a distinct air of superiority. "I make it a practice never to have a coffee klatch with anyone under the rank of Colonel. And certainly with no one in the Gestapo," he said. "I will have it here."

"Certainly, sir." Hochstetter glanced at the orderly and motioned him forward. Once the man had brought the tray, the Major picked up the ornate silver pot and began to fill a cup. His eyes lingered on the sugar bowl. _I should have filled that with rat poison from under the sink._ "Does the General take milk or sugar with his coffee?"

"Luxuries!" Hogan spouted. "Luxuries! I have vowed not to have such extravagances until the boys on the front are back home and enjoying these things themselves. I will, of course, take it black. _Stabsfeldwebel_? Would you care for a cup?" Hogan glanced at the tray, and looked fleetingly toward the door. _What was taking Kinch so long with those lights?_

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Right, Carter. It's time." Newkirk looked at the American and nodded slightly. "Let's have the cuffs and we'll get moving."

"Sorry about this, buddy," Carter apologized as he slipped the cuffs in place. "I wouldn't do this to ya if I didn't have to." He tested the shackles just once. "I mean, I wouldn't do it at all if I had a choice, but you know how the Gestapo are—they tend to play it rough just so they don't have to watch ya too closely when you're being moved from one place to another and they don't want your arms free."

"I know, mate. That's why I gave you a special set." Newkirk flexed his hands, giving them an odd sort of twist while he was talking, and before Carter knew what was going on, Newkirk held one hand up with the now-opened cuffs dangling from his fingertips. He grinned briefly as he held out his wrists for Carter to replace the restraints. "This is one game where I want as many aces up my sleeve as I can possibly have."

Carter looked at his companion in amazement. "Gee, Newkirk, I didn't know you'd given me a magic set!" Carter put the cuffs on again. "I'd love to see you do another trick or two—" The American cut himself off. "But Colonel Hogan will need us. I don't know what he's thinking, but he must have a plan. I mean, the Colonel always has a plan."

"Well, let's go and see what it is, then." Newkirk stood and gave his friend a long look. "And don't worry if you have to shove me around a bit, Andrew. You just concentrate on doing what's necessary to help get us all out of there in one piece, all right?"

Carter looked at Newkirk, slight disbelief touching his face even in the darkness. "Okay. But don't get upset if Colonel Hogan starts shouting at ya. I think he's even got Hochstetter scared of him at the moment. You should see how civil the Major's being, even though you can tell he hates the Colonel's guts!"

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hochstetter resisted the urge to knock the cup from the visiting General's hand only by keeping the consequences of such an action firmly in mind. _I would likely be shot before the cup hit the floor, but it would almost be worth it just to put an end to this stupidity._ The Major also resisted the urge to pace, as he didn't want to give the General anything else to complain about. _This is ridiculous! I know the Englander is in the cell because I put him in there myself, and there has been a guard in the hall ever since. _But as there was nothing he could do about the situation, Hochstetter kept a carefully neutral expression on his face and waited impatiently for the _Abwehr_ officer to finish sipping coffee.

"An interesting little brew you have here, Major," Hogan said thoughtfully. He took a slow sip from his cup. "Almost as poor as they have on the Russian front, only with much less of an excuse to be poor, no?" He snorted once and turned to Le Beau. "Rinehart, tell me the time; I cannot bear the waiting."

"Ja, _Herr_ General, it does seem to be taking your man awhile to locate _your _Squadron Leader. Perhaps we could settle the matter simply by opening the cell door." Hochstetter stepped forward and held out his hand to Le Beau. "The keys, if you would."

Le Beau looked doubtfully at Hogan, who let out a low breath which did nothing to loosen the tightness in his chest. Then the Colonel nodded once, shortly. "Go on, Rinehart," he said. "Open the door."

Le Beau watched as Hogan's hand edged toward a hidden gun under his coat as the Colonel moved in closer to Hochstetter. Clearly, Hogan was expecting this to go badly, but he was going to go down fighting. His eyes were dark and serious and, Le Beau was certain, regretful. The Corporal nodded, and swallowing his heart, he took the key out of his pocket and turned to the door.

A noise at the far end of the hall drew everyone's attention as a man in a British uniform was brought in. As they drew closer, the captive muttered something under his breath and tried to pull free of his escort's grasp. The ensuing scuffle came to an abrupt halt when the Englishman was suddenly pushed face-first into the wall and pinned in place. Breathing heavily with exertion, Carter turned to Hogan and nodded. "The prisoner, as you ordered, _Herr_ General."

Hogan's shoulders slumped in obvious relief as he nodded to Le Beau to move away from the cell door and pocket the key. "Very good, Wasserman," Hogan said, his voice not betraying any of his emotions. He glanced at Hochstetter, who was about to move closer to the prisoner when Hogan put an arm out to stop him. "What is your name, Englander?"

Peter turned his head enough to glare over his shoulder at Hogan and Hochstetter, allowing his gaze to linger on the Gestapo officer as he sized up the situation. As his eyes turned to Hogan, his expression hardened and his reply came in a low tone. "Squadron Leader Tristan Newkirk." There was just enough of a pause to be noticed before he added, "Sir."

Hogan turned to the Gestapo Major. "Major Hochstetter?" he said, with just a touch of irony in his voice.

Hochstetter stared at the prisoner. "Bu-But… but that is impossible! The Englander is in the cell!"

"Is he?" Hogan asked doubtfully. He nodded almost imperceptibly; Newkirk turned his head away again. "Come now, Major," the Colonel said, the condescension in his voice settling on Hochstetter like a smothering blanket, "surely even you can believe your own eyes."

The Major growled something under his breath as he stormed his way past Hogan, heading for Le Beau and clearly intending to seize the keys for himself when the hallway went dark. He swore bitterly and began shouting for the guard as he kept moving toward the place where he'd last seen Le Beau.

Without hesitation, Hogan shoved Le Beau toward the cell and then moved in to make sure Hochstetter wouldn't interfere with his plans. He started shouting to cover the sound of the door being opened. "What is the meaning of this? Hochstetter, what kind of incompetent outfit are you running here?" He twisted around, wandering the hall, attempting to throw the Major off-balance. And when he felt himself make contact with the Gestapo officer's arm, he pulled hard. "Wasserman?" he called, knowing full well he was pulling Hochstetter squirming to the ground. "Is that you?"

Meanwhile, Le Beau made his way into the dark cell and felt his way to Tristan's side in the chair. "Sir, it's Le Beau," he whispered. "Come, we must hurry. _Vite_."

Tristan pulled his arms free of the chair and rose unsteadily to his feet, grabbing Le Beau's shoulder until he found his balance. "Righto, Corporal. Lead the way."

"Stay quiet," the Frenchman ordered in less than a whisper. Then he led Tristan out of the room and shut the door silently behind them. Hogan had already recovered his footing and was standing nearby; Louis fumblingly found the Colonel's hand and dropped the keys in it. Hogan squeezed Le Beau's hand briefly to convey both acceptance and his orders, and within seconds, the Corporal and Tristan were gone. Hogan turned back toward where he knew Hochstetter had started to get up, and he simply knocked the Major down again. "Hochstetter? Hochstetter, where are you? I hope if you're not here you're busy packing for colder climates!"

The heavy sound of running feet echoed in the hall as a pair of guards came rushing forward, the bright beams of their flashlights stabbing through the darkness to illuminate the scene. "_Herr_ Major!" One of the guards helped Hochstetter to his feet and gave him a hasty salute. "Power is out in the entire building, sir, but it is only this building that is affected! We have doubled the guards and have sent some men to search for the cause."

"Good!" The Gestapo officer snatched the flashlight from the guard's hand and swept the beam around the hall, letting it rest on the Englishman and the General's aide. He nodded in satisfaction when he saw that the aide had apparently forced the prisoner to his knees and was now holding a pistol to the back of the man's head. Satisfied that things were well in hand there, Hochstetter wheeled around and shined the light on the senior _Abwehr_ officer. "All right, _Herr_ General," he said, his tone low and dangerous. "Where is your other man? Rinehart?"

Hogan laughed, almost giggled, a noise that nearly drove Hochstetter over the edge. "Why, he went outside to keep watch, Major," Hogan said. "With the way things are happening here tonight, I did not want to take any chances on you losing any other prisoners because of a simple blown fuse. Imagine the _Fuhrer's_ dismay if I had to tell him you lost not only one… but _two_ prisoners!"

With that, Hogan tossed a casual glance toward Peter and Carter. "Wasserman, get that man off his knees. We are _Abwehr_; we do not engage in such primitive practices. We are able to keep hold of our prisoners even when they are on their feet." He watched Newkirk rise and breathe an almost audible sigh of relief as Carter pulled the gun away from his head. "Now, Major, if you are sure your flashlight will last that long, perhaps _now_ would be the time to open the cell and see exactly who you do not have in there?"

"All right, _Herr_ General," he said crossly. The Major had finally had enough of being ridiculed, even by a superior officer. "We will open that cell now."

Hogan swept past the Major and put the key in the lock, then turned it and let the door swing open. "After you, Major Hochstetter," he said graciously, stepping aside to let the German pass into the room.

Hochstetter stood in the doorway, ignoring the heat flowing out of the small cell as he aimed the flashlight at the spot he knew the chair had been placed, and was stunned to find it empty. He stared, disbelieving, and felt the blood drain from his face from the shock. Finally gathering his wits about him, the Major slowly ran the beam around the tiny room.

Hogan wanted out, now. He knew it was only a matter of time before the lights came back on, and once that happened the danger to them all would increase tenfold. "What's the matter, Major? Afraid of ghosts?"

He pushed Hochstetter into the room and squared off against him, the light from the Major's flashlight casting eerie shadows on his face. "This—this cannot be!" Hochstetter spluttered. "It is a trick! You have done this somehow! I checked on him myself—he could not be—!"

Hogan shook his head and sighed. "You can see, Major, that you are as incompetent as I have said. This officer is far too important to be left to the likes of you and your Gestapo stooges. I shall take him to Berlin and question him myself." Without giving Hochstetter a chance to respond, Hogan turned to Carter. "Wasserman, take this prisoner out and put him in the truck. We will leave immediately. Hochstetter, I suggest you get yourself an electrician… and maybe someone who can make sure the locks on your cells work!"

Then, not waiting to see if anyone followed, Hogan spun on his heel and walked out.


	11. One More Time

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended

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Hogan ran the back of his hand across his face as the truck lurched into action. "Okay, that's Part A done; now all we have to do is pick up the others, get back to camp, be ready in time for roll call, and contact the Underground to get Tristan out of here before Hochstetter decides to get paranoid again and starts combing the woods." He stole a quick look at Newkirk. "I'm afraid our original plan to get him out is dead. You'll have to go out with him in the dog truck and then to a sub; going out in Kraut uniform again so soon would be too dangerous."

Newkirk nodded as he easily slipped the trick handcuffs from his wrists. "Sounds like we're walking once we get out of camp then, at least until we get out of the area. If Hochstetter starts looking for Tris, you know he'll have every vehicle searched, so we can't take a chance on one of our contacts getting caught with us hiding under a tarpaulin in the back of a lorry." He paused, then looked Hogan in the eyes. "Did you see Tris, gov'nor? How is he?" Another pause. "Did the Major... work him over?"

Hogan shook his head softly. "They won't search the dog truck. Even Germans aren't that stupid. But we'll make sure the woods are clear before you go." Hogan sighed. "Your brother is fine. A couple of bruises here and there, typical Gestapo welcome goons, not much more. We'll pick him and Le Beau and Kinch up on the way back to camp. And then we can find out what the hell happened to the lights."

Newkirk was silent for a moment, then he suddenly threw the cuffs across the truck angrily.

"Settle down, Newkirk," Hogan said almost harshly, knowing there were times he needed to come down just a little harder to keep Newkirk's emotions under control. "You knew Hochstetter wasn't going to let him off untouched—just be happy he could walk out under his own power. All he needs is some cleaning up. He'd have gotten worse running through the woods."

Newkirk took a few deep breaths. "Righto, gov'nor," he said finally. "I'd like to thank you for tonight's work, sir. I know it wasn't easy, walking into Gestapo Headquarters like that."

"It's all part of the job, Newkirk," Hogan replied softly.

Carter pulled the truck over to the side of the road when they got to the agreed spot and flashed the headlights twice quickly, then once. A beam of light answered in like fashion from the side of the road, and Hogan and Newkirk quickly made room for their companions to join them in the back of the vehicle. Kinch gave Tristan and Le Beau a step up, then hopped in himself.

Hogan banged twice on the back of the cabin to signal to Carter to start driving again. Then he turned to the new arrivals. "Everything all right? Nobody followed you, did they?" he asked.

"No, Colonel; all clear," Kinch answered.

"We didn't have any trouble at all, _Colonel_," Le Beau put in. "Once we were out of the cell we walked straight out the front door."

Hogan nodded. "Good. Tristan, you all right? We didn't get a chance to talk much before we marched you out of there."

The elder Newkirk smiled wanly. "I must say I had no idea what you were going to do, Colonel. I'm still flabbergasted that you were able to pull off something so bloody-minded!"

"That's what we do best," Hogan replied. "Just relax now and enjoy the ride back to Stalag 13." And Hogan sat back, tired but now satisfied, to leave the brothers to have their own private talk.

Peter instantly moved to his brother's side. "Tris... I... it's good to see you again," he said quietly, English reserve struggling against both the love he felt for his brother and the relief at having him back. There was no contest, and Peter reached out, taking Tristan in a tight embrace, his head coming to rest on his older brother's shoulder just as it had done when they were boys. "I don't know what I'd have done if... if..."

"Would never have happened, brother," Tristan said quietly, returning the comforting hold. "You told me yourself: your Papa Bear is capable of anything. And he certainly proved that tonight."

"That he did, Tris," Peter replied. A soft, almost unheard chuckle accompanied his next words. "Just don't tell him that, all right? Wouldn't want him to get a swelled head over it now would we?"

"No one's likely to get overconfident with you in their company, Peter," Tristan whispered. "I know you'll keep me in line when we get back to London, eh?"

Peter slowly released his hold on his brother and sat up, taking a glance over his shoulder at his friends as he did so. His eyes lingered on Hogan, who was leaning back, eyes closed and apparently asleep. How often, in his self-appointed role as Devil's Advocate, had he kept the Colonel "in line" by making a comment, or giving the man a pointed glance when some of Hogan's schemes began to get more than a bit on the impossible side? And how often in turn had his commanding officer kept _him_ "in line" when Peter's quick temper or his innate rebelliousness threatened to get out of hand? Turning back to his older brother, Peter smiled sadly and nodded. "Should be a piece of cake, Tris, after all the practice I've had over the last couple of years."

"Glad to see you haven't gotten rusty," Tristan said simply, not failing to notice the slight melancholy in his brother's voice. "Habit for a lifetime, I guess. Doesn't matter who you're with… you just do it."

"Don't let it get around, then. Might spoil my reputation as a cynical bastard." Peter favored his brother with a self-deprecating grin as he pulled a tiny bit of metal from the back of his watch band. "And speaking of reputations, let me get those cuffs off you before someone round here thinks I've lost my touch."

An unexpected, drowsy voice from behind his back startled Newkirk. "Not a chance." Peter turned to see Hogan smiling softly, eyes still closed. "Fingers like yours are hard to come by."

Le Beau shook his head and chuckled quietly. "Don't tell him that, _mon_ _Colonel_."

"Yeah, we'll have to get him a bigger hat," Kinch added with a smile.

Ignoring the teasing remarks from his friends, Peter set to work on the lock holding the cuff in place. He frowned as his fingers came in contact with the damp, sticky feeling of blood on the metal, but before he could say anything, Tristan leaned down as if to watch and softly whispered, "It's all right, Peter. I'll have it looked after when we get back to the camp." The younger man then carefully picked the lock and eased the tight cuff from his older brother's wrist.

When Peter finished, Tristan flexed his fingers and rotated his wrists. "That's much better, little brother. Seems you've kept hold of the skills I've taught you." He sat back against the side of the truck. "Thanks."

"_You_ taught him?" Le Beau echoed. Tristan smiled. "_Colonel_, we have to get him out of camp right away. We cannot possibly have someone in camp who can do everything Pierre does…. Who would clean up the mess?"

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Tristan cautiously climbed through the bunk bed and into the barracks, heading straight to Hogan's door. He hesitated slightly before finally knocking.

Hogan was deep in thought and nursing yet another cup of coffee when he heard the quiet rapping nearby. Taking in a deep breath, he looked up from his desk and rubbed his eyes; sleep had not come easily last night, despite the tiredness that had sunk into him on the trip back to camp. And now there was too much to do and consider before he could lie down again. "Come," he called softly.

Tristan entered the small office and drew himself to attention. "Might I have a word with you, sir?"

Hogan looked up, surprised at seeing the Squadron Leader before him. Now clean-shaven—clearly due to some interference from Wilson, since there was evidence of the medic's handiwork on his face—Tristan bore an even more startling resemblance to his younger brother. Hogan just stared for a few seconds as his mind ran several scenarios of possible disaster from the night before, then he nodded and said quietly, "I see Wilson's been at you."

"That he has, sir." Tristan reached up and lightly ran his fingertips along his jaw, careful not to touch the stinging welt left by a blow from a riding crop. "Insisted I shave, too. Just as well, since a beard isn't exactly on for an officer."

Hogan smiled softly, an expression that did not reach his eyes. "I'm sure London will be glad to get you back, facial hair or not." He paused and seemed to consider something before speaking again. "Grab a seat. What can I do for you?"

Newkirk took a seat at the foot of the bottom bunk and nodded his thanks before speaking. "I... want to thank you and your men for coming after me, Colonel." Tristan glanced away for a moment. "I was beginning to tire of Jerry's hospitality when you came along."

Hogan nodded knowingly. "Trust me, I know what you mean. I haven't recommended them for mention in any of the best travel guides. They interrupted your plans; the least we could do was get you back on track."

"Much appreciated, sir." Tristan went silent as memories of his time with the Gestapo came to mind. And he remembered what Peter has said about what had been done to Hogan since the American had been shot down, and Tristan realized he was very fortunate in having spent only one day in the hands of the Gestapo. After a deep breath, he brought himself back to the present. "In any case, I understand I'm leaving tonight. Do you still plan to send Peter back with me?"

Without hesitation, and almost too strongly, Hogan replied, "Yes." As though he'd realized himself that he had spoken too quickly, the Colonel added, "I've got Klink all lined up for it—he'll have to transfer Peter because knowing you were taken out of camp by the Gestapo would make him crazy to go." He smirked ironically. "And our beloved Kommandant couldn't let a lowly English Corporal ruin his perfect no-escape record."

Tristan nodded slowly. "That makes sense, Colonel, given Peter's penchant for acting on his instincts and damn the consequences. It's a wonder to me that you've been able to deal with him all this time." He smiled briefly. "There aren't many people who have been able to win his respect, and fewer still who have managed to gain his loyalty and trust."

Hogan swallowed hard. "He's a good man. He deserves to go home," he said.

"You all do, sir, but I understand why you're staying. Rest assured that I'll do all I can to bring this whole rotten mess to an end as quickly as possible so that all of you can come home soon." Tristan went silent again.

Hogan nodded, staring at the desk. "Thanks." He didn't speak again for a long time. Then, his voice almost a whisper, he said, "Look after him for us, okay? Don't let him end up back here again by mistake."

"I'll keep an eye on him for you, Colonel." Tristan's gaze fell to the floor, and the silence stretched uncomfortably before he spoke again. "You do realize, sir, that it's not likely he'll be leaving London until after the war. Mind you, I'm not in Intelligence, but it's rather obvious that he knows far too much about your operation here for them to take the chance of putting Peter in a position where he could be recaptured by the Germans."

Hogan nodded thoughtfully. "I know. It'd be like that for any of us who went back." Hogan tried to think straight, past his tiredness. "Newkirk's a man of action; I know it'll be hard for him at first. But he can still do support work for us. He's just going to have to do it from some place that he can't get shot at." Hogan shrugged. "It's sure a lot easier to take than this place."

"I'll do everything I can to help him see that he'll still be working for you, even if he's doing it from London." A ghost of a smile played across Tristan's face as he went on. "My little brother is stubborn, but he's not stupid. He'll come round to the idea eventually." _I hope._

"Good," Hogan answered. "See if you can't get him a CO who can make him obey an order, would you?" He turned back to his desk, deliberately looking away from the man who reminded him so much of the comrade he was losing. "Whoever manages _that_ will be worthy of promotion to Brigadier General," he mumbled.

Tristan studied Hogan thoughtfully, then slowly got to his feet. "From what I've seen, Colonel," he said quietly, "you're about the only one who's managed that impossible task." Tristan paused, clearing his throat before continuing. "I suppose I'd best get back downstairs now, before Jerry decides to make a spot inspection and finds he's got one man too many on his hands."

Hogan nodded. "Yeah, you'd better," he said, not turning around. He heard Tristan get up to leave, and suddenly called to him as he was at the door. "And Newkirk—" Tristan turned around and looked at Hogan, whose face was so clearly full of determination, and equally full of pain. "If he gives them too much trouble in London—" Hogan stopped and his voice got very soft. "Tell him I'll… have to come and drag him back into line."

"I will, sir," Tristan replied quietly. "You have my word on it."

Hogan nodded briefly, then without lifting his head, turned back to his desk and stared at nothing.

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Hogan stood at the bars to the cooler and called to Peter, who was sitting, bored, on the cot near the opposite wall. "Come on, Newkirk—it's time for you to move to your new home."

"I'll be right glad to be out of here, sir." Newkirk moved over to the bars, leaning on them to speak quietly to Hogan. "When do I leave, Colonel?"

Hogan didn't try to get Newkirk's eyes to reach his own. "Now," he said with a touch of regret that he couldn't hide.

The clanking of chain caused both men to look up as two of the camp guards came down the hall, one of them motioning Hogan away from cell as the other unlocked the door. Peter's eyes widened as the first guard came at him with a set of shackles, but he offered no resistance when the heavy iron bands were fastened around his wrists and ankles. That changed when the guard grabbed his arm to haul him out of the cell. Newkirk jerked himself free of the German's grasp, giving the man a look of disgust as he muttered, "I can bloody well walk on my own, thanks."

Hogan frowned. "The shackles aren't necessary," he protested, unhappy with the less than genteel approach of the camp guards.

"This man tried to escape once, _Herr Oberst_. We will make certain he does not do so again," the first guard said as he took Peter's arm again.

Hogan grimaced but complained no more, consoling himself with the knowledge that in less than an hour, Newkirk would be free anyway, handed over to members of the Underground who would "transport" Newkirk to his new camp—or say they would, when they instead set him free to join Tristan again. "You'll be all right, Corporal," Hogan said now, his voice strained but trying desperately to remain strong.

Peter gave Hogan a long look and nodded before turning to the guards with the little grin that told the Colonel that Newkirk was up to something. But before Hogan could react, Peter raised his hands, rattled the chain, and laughed. "It'll be fine, gov'nor. It's right nice knowing how afraid these fine, upstanding members of the 'Master Race' are of an unarmed Englishman." He continued laughing even as the second guard grabbed his other arm and the two Germans hauled him out of the cell block.

Hogan smiled weakly in return, and followed them out to the yard.


	12. Brothers

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

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"Well, he is gone again," Le Beau observed needlessly, as he, Kinch and Carter huddled outside the barracks, looking toward the front gate that had let the truck carrying Newkirk out of camp a few hours earlier. He glanced toward Hogan, who stood leaning against the wall of the hut, his eyes closed, garrison cap covering his eyes, his arms crossed. Quiet. "_Bon chance_ to him. Some day we will all follow."

"That'll be great, boy," Carter said, trying to sound enthusiastic. "I can't wait till we go waltzing out of here, either. Of course, my brother won't come here to get me. I mean, I don't have a brother, but if I did, he wouldn't be coming here to get me; I'd be running out to get him!"

"Careful, Carter, you'll hurt yourself," Kinch laughed. He grew somber when Hogan still didn't react. "We'll get word from London by early morning that they've made it back okay. So we should sleep well tonight."

Hogan still did not move.

"_Oui,"_ Le Beau answered, now watching their commanding officer openly. "Pierre will be safe and so will his brother. They will be pleased to be home; Newkirk will barely remember this place!" he added, trying to put some lightness into his voice.

Hogan suddenly brought a hand up and began to massage his forehead and temples. Something was clearly bothering him. But still he said nothing.

Carter gave Le Beau a searching look. "Do you really think he's gonna forget about all of us that fast?"

Kinch shook his head. "No way, Andrew. Newkirk won't forget." He smiled. "Besides, who could forget _you_?"

His face brightened on hearing Kinch's words. "Well, I'm sure he wouldn't forget any of you guys, either!" Carter replied.

Le Beau looked at Kinch, who was grinning, and shook his head. "Sometimes I wish _I_ could forget," he said. Then he let out a short laugh. "Soon, he will be so busy he will not have time to think about us, though. He will get a hero's welcome back in London, and then he will be given a desk job in a properly heated office with a pretty secretary. What's to remember about this place?"

Hogan suddenly pulled away from the wall of the barracks and pushed his cap back on his head. "I'll be downstairs pulling radio duty. Kinch, you can have tonight off. Let me know when it's time for evening roll call."

And he was gone.

No one spoke for a few minutes after Hogan disappeared into the barracks. It was Carter who finally broke the silence with a low-voiced comment. "The Colonel's taking this real hard, isn't he?" He sighed. "I know what he did was right, but it's gonna take him a long time to get over it."

Kinch stared at the door after Hogan. "The problem is, I don't think _he_ knows what he did was right." He shook his head. "And that kind of thing is pretty hard to get over."

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Hogan blinked again slowly as he stared at the gauges on the radio set in the tunnel. He had been sitting at the desk stubbornly for hours now, waiting for a message to come through from London telling him that Peter and Tristan were safe in England. He knew by the message from the Underground that the brothers had been brought to the rendezvous point, but there was no way the pair could possibly be in London yet; still, he refused to leave the equipment. _Stubborn fool, Hogan_, he berated himself, even as he stared harder at the radio. _What do you expect to hear now?_

Hogan felt his stomach rumble and frowned. He had skipped supper, going upstairs only for roll call and then coming back down into solitude. The headache that had started behind his eyes when Newkirk rolled out of camp had not diminished, and he welcomed the cool air and the darkness of the tunnel. He grabbed his coffee cup and drained the dregs to appease his stomach, then almost slammed the cup impatiently on the desk.

"Come on," he said aloud to the radio before him. For what would have been the fourth time in the last hour, Hogan put his hand on the microphone and moved as though to put a call through himself, just to make sure no one had forgotten to contact him. And for what would have been the fourth time in the last hour, he sighed and stopped himself before he followed through.

This time, though, he left his hand on the microphone handle, and squeezed hard. "Come on," he said again, softly now. "Come on, Newkirk," he said, as though his thoughts could reach through the dead airwaves; "get home safe, and call."

Hogan stayed this way a few more minutes, unmoving, then gave in to his thumping temples and lay his head down on the desk, still holding the mic. "Come on," he muttered even as his eyes closed against his will. "Come on, get home."

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A dark-clad figure made his way through the dimly-lit emergency tunnel, moving with the ease of familiarity as he approached the central hub. He paused by the clothing rack, running a hand over the collar of a Gestapo uniform before putting a small pack onto the makeup table. He glanced at the mirror, shaking his head at the tear in the sleeve of his battle dress jacket, and turned to go back to the clothing rack for the sewing basket that stood under it.

He'd just picked up the basket when he realized that while the electric light over the radio was on, he didn't see anyone close at hand. He frowned and checked the pistol that was tucked into his waistband before going to take a closer look. His expression cleared, the frown replaced by a gentle smile when he saw that Colonel Hogan had fallen asleep at the desk. The radio was on, and one of the American's hands was wrapped around the base of the microphone; it was clear that the Colonel had been waiting for a message when sleep had finally claimed him.

_You didn't have to wait up for me, gov'nor._ Newkirk studied his commanding officer thoughtfully, then retrieved a blanket from the nearby cot. He shook it out and carefully placed it over Hogan's shoulders, intending to let the man sleep awhile longer while he tended to the repairs on his jacket.

But Hogan felt the weight of the material on him and shifted slightly. His arm slid off the desk and dropped by his side, jerking him into semi-consciousness. "Hmm?" he sighed sleepily. Then he frowned, his eyes still closed, and he muttered breathily, "'S'okay, Kinch, I'm just waiting for London to call. Go to bed."

Newkirk shook his head, smiling at the idea of being mistaken for Kinch. Knowing that the American's deep tones were well out of his range, Newkirk did his best imitation of the Sergeant's voice anyway. "Sure, Colonel. Just checking in on you." Hoping that Hogan would be reassured enough to go back to sleep, Newkirk turned away, heading for the sewing basket again.

"Y'sound like… you have a cold, Kinch," Hogan replied, still anything but alert. "Make sure you… sleep in…" He turned his head toward the wall and brought his arm back up to rest on, sighing as he seemed to fall back fully into sleep.

_Looks like I pulled that one off. _Newkirk picked up the basket, sorting out a packet of needles and some thread as he took a seat at the makeup table.

Newkirk laid aside the sewing supplies and took off the jacket, taking care not to let it drag across his upper arm. The button-down uniform shirt he was wearing also had a torn sleeve, with a white bandage showing clearly through the gap in the blood-stained cloth. Newkirk dug through a box under the makeup table, bringing up a bottle of peroxide that he kept for washing out hair dye, and set about using it to get the blood out of his jacket sleeve before sewing it up. But he dropped another bottle onto the floor and cursed softly, picking it up and wishing it hadn't echoed so much in the enclosed area.

Hogan drew in a deep breath he was about to sigh out when the noise reached his ears. "Kinch, I told you to go up to…" Hogan almost drunkenly raised up his head and turned toward the source of the sound. He frowned when the back of the figure he saw didn't seem to fit Kinch somehow, and he sat up straight at the desk, only then seeming to take in that he had actually fallen asleep there. "Hey," he said sternly to the intruder. "What are you doing down here?"

Newkirk froze at the tone of Hogan's voice, and took a cautious glance over his shoulder to make certain that the Colonel wasn't holding a pistol on him before he straightened up. "Evening, gov'nor," he said quietly.

Hogan brought a hand up to rub his sleep-filled eyes and let his mind process what he'd just heard. _I must be dreaming_, he thought ironically. He blinked and stared hard at the figure in the dim light. Unwilling to believe his ears, he stood up and ordered, "I told Kinch I didn't want anyone down here tonight. Why are you in the tunnel?"

The Englishman raised an eyebrow as he stood and started toward the radio desk. "I'm here because I just got back, sir." Newkirk frowned at the look of confusion on Hogan's face. "Are you all right, Colonel?"

The bewildered expression changed to include consternation. "Newkirk?" He glanced quickly back at the radio, like it would be able to provide an answer to what he was seeing. Then he studied the man before him again. "Newkirk, what are you doing here?"

"I missed the boat," Newkirk smiled as he put on his best innocent expression. "And as I didn't fancy a swim across the ruddy Channel this time of year, I had nothing better to do than come back."

Hogan frowned. "What do you mean you 'missed the boat'? Didn't you get to the sub on time? The message from the Underground said you got to the rendezvous point okay."

Newkirk leaned against a roof support post and nodded. "That we did, gov'nor. Got there in plenty of time, and the sub was right on the mark." He paused. "What we hadn't counted on was a Kraut patrol showin' up at the same time and sticking their bleedin' noses in where they didn't belong."

Hogan's face lost any trace of uncertainty now. "A patrol? So they saw the drop point?" Hogan's frown got deeper. "Damn. Now the sub's going to have to find another rendezvous." His mind was swimming with all the implications of Newkirk's statement. "What about the members of the Underground—did they get away? And what about Tristan? Where is he now?"

"Easy there, mate." Newkirk held up a hand to try to get Hogan to slow down long enough for him to get a word in edgewise. "They saw the drop point right enough, except it's the last thing they'll ever see in this lifetime. The Underground folks all got clean away, and are already working on a new location for the rendezvous, so everything's in hand with that. As for Tristan, he made it to the sub with no trouble, and should be getting back to England," Newkirk took a quick glance at his watch and nodded, "any time now. And he's promised to call in as soon as he's able."

Hogan paused long enough to let Newkirk's explanation sink in. "Good," he said finally. Then another pause. "Are you all right?"

"Of course I am, gov'nor."

Hogan's eyes fell away from Newkirk's face. "It would have been hard to watch your brother leave without you." He squinted as he noticed a bloody tear in Newkirk's shirt with a patch of what was clearly white gauze underneath. "And what's that?" he asked, his voice rising just slightly.

Newkirk glanced at his arm and shrugged. "It's nothing. Only a scratch, sir. Really." _And you're right about one thing: watching Tris as they rowed him away from the shore was one of the hardest things I've ever done in my life. But we had time to talk it over while waiting for the sub, and though he wasn't entirely happy about it, Tristan does understand my reasons for staying. I only hope I can make you understand them, too, gov'nor._ "One of the Underground blokes has a sister who's right handy with bandages and such." He gave Hogan a grin as he continued. "Not a bad-lookin' bird, either."

Hogan nodded slowly, not entirely convinced, then took in and let out a long breath. "You should have gone with him, Newkirk." Steeling his resolve, Hogan said, "Tomorrow we'll figure out a way to let you follow; after all, the Krauts are sure you've escaped so you're not expected here. Meantime, you're probably tired; why don't you hole up in my office, and we'll cover if Klink comes through. I was… working when you came back; I've got a few things to finish down here anyway."

"Colonel? About that..." Newkirk shook his head. He'd thought about this all the way back to camp, but now that it was time to tell Hogan how he felt, he almost couldn't find the words. "I've decided to stay."

Hogan looked like someone had just slapped him in the face. "Stay?" he echoed. He shook his head. "Newkirk, you need to go home. You _deserve_ to go home. Now that Tristan is gone, you can't stay here; it wouldn't be right. I didn't ask that of you." He paused, swallowing the overwhelming desire to simply shut up and welcome the Corporal back with open arms. Instead, he lied, "I don't_ want_ that of you."

"Maybe not, sir, but it's what I want," Newkirk said quietly. "Even though there's a part of me that wants to be home more than anything, it's simply not my time to go. I volunteered to stay back in '42 when this whole thing started, and now I'm volunteering to stay and see it through to the end."

Hogan shook his head, still at a loss. "But I don't understand, Newkirk. Why volunteer to stay in this cesspool of a place when you can go home and fight from there? Sure, you won't be blowing up bridges and capturing Nazis, but you'll still be a part of the war. You have nothing to feel guilty about by going home."

"It's not guilt, Colonel." Newkirk sighed and dropped his gaze to the tunnel floor as he struggled to find the words that had come so easily when he'd been talking to his brother only hours earlier. "It's the fact that I can make a difference here. Back home, I'm just one of the other ranks, a Corporal in need of a lot of re-training before I could be assigned to a squadron again. That, or Heaven forbid, I end up chained to a desk for the rest of the war."

Hogan let a small, wry smile cross his lips. "Newkirk, I thought I'd have taught you by now that rank doesn't matter. It's what you _do_ that makes the difference, not how many stripes and medals you wear."

"Rank might not matter to _you_, gov'nor, but it does back in London." Newkirk returned Hogan's wry smile with a small grin of his own. "But it's that part about makin' a difference that makes me want to stay instead of going back."

Hogan smile had disappeared, and now he replaced it with a raised eyebrow. "You've made a difference, Peter," he said quietly, firmly. "You'll make a difference wherever you are, that's one thing I know for sure."

"Well, I want to do it here, sir, if it's all the same to you. I think the RAF can spare me as an Air Gunner." Newkirk shrugged. "They've been getting on all right so far without my help, and I think they'll be able to get by without me a while longer. At any rate, I can do more damage to the German war effort from right here in Stalag 13 than I ever could from the dorsal turret of a Lancaster."

"Why don't you sleep on it," Hogan suggested, his voice still hushed. "Go on upstairs and get some shut-eye. And when you get up in the morning, you can tell me for sure what you want. I guess I can't force you to go… no matter how much I try to."

Newkirk's voice was quiet but firm. "I've already made me mind up, Colonel. I'm staying."

Hogan absorbed the resolve in Newkirk's voice, the unwavering look in his eye, the determination in his stance. Whatever his reasons, whatever Hogan thought of letting Newkirk stay under his command, there was something about the Corporal right now that told Hogan nothing he could say could change what was happening. He swallowed hard before speaking. "If you're sure, Newkirk."

"I know exactly what I'm giving up, and even with that... the answer's still the same." Newkirk's eyes never left Hogan's as he replied. "My duty lies here, sir, with you and the rest of the men. I knew what I wanted to do back when all this started, Colonel Hogan, and I know what I want to do now."

Hogan's dark eyes met Newkirk's gaze, and he returned it with equal strength. "Then you're welcome back under my command, Corporal," he said, hoping the relief he felt was anything but evident in his voice.

Newkirk masked his own relief with a casual nod. "Thank you, sir." He didn't say anything for a few moments, then gave his commanding officer a grin. "So, what are we gonna tell the old Bald Eagle so I can officially get back inside the camp?"

Hogan's serious face melted into a smile and he put his arm around Newkirk as he led him to the ladder to the barracks. "Well, Newkirk, the way to Klink's heart is through his ego. I figure you escaped from the guards transferring you, right? And you let one of the guards capture you just outside the fence…." Hogan's voice became more animated as his idea took form. "And now it's Klink's duty to keep you here because no other camp has the perfect No Escape record that he has. And how could he let you roam around outside the safe barbed wire of this camp… when there's every chance you could get shot? No, no, Newkirk," Hogan concluded solemnly, shaking his head, "Klink is far too much of a humanitarian to let that happen to you."

Newkirk rolled his eyes. "Layin' it on a bit thick, aren't you, gov'nor?" He shook his head, then gave Hogan a serious look. "I know I'll have to spend some time in the cooler over all this, but could you at least make certain this time round that I get the cell we've got connected to the tunnel?"

"That all depends, Newkirk. I thought you wanted to go on a bit of a diet after eating too much of Le Beau's cooking. It might be too tempting to try to get to his creations if you've got access to the barracks while you're there."

"Got me mixed up with me brother there—" Newkirk cut himself off mid-sentence as the radio crackled to life.

Hogan grabbed the headsets and the microphone and listened as Newkirk came up alongside him. "We read you, Goldilocks, this is Papa Bear. Go ahead please, over." Hogan nodded thoughtfully as the transmission continued. "That's right, Goldilocks, the other bowl of porridge is here," he said with a nod, glancing at Newkirk. "It's just right." Hogan shook his head; sometimes having to use code made him feel like a five year old.

"What about Tristan?" Newkirk leaned over the radio desk, staring intently at Hogan. "Did he make it back? Is he all right?"

Hogan smiled indulgently, nodding toward Newkirk even as he spoke. "Will do, Goldilocks. Make sure our friend doesn't make himself scarce. I know a few folks that would love to hear from him….. We'll be looking forward to it," Hogan said into the microphone. "Papa Bear, over and out." He replaced the headsets and flicked the switch to turn off the radio, then turned to Newkirk. "Tristan's fine," he said, feeling the concern of Peter for his brother, and being warmed by it. "He's going to have a hot meal and a sleep and then a bit of interrogation from the brass, and he'll be back at work in no time."

Hogan rubbed his eyes, then expanded the gesture to briskly rub his whole face. "Look, it's been a long night. I don't want you to make a decision that could affect your whole life with no shut-eye. Go get some sleep. I'll close up down here and come on up when I'm through."

Newkirk shook his head. "If it's all the same to you, Colonel, I'd just as soon stay down here tonight. I'd... like some time to myself before I face everyone."

Hogan nodded, understanding. "Look, Newkirk…" Hogan started, almost reluctantly, "I know I'm the one who was pushing for you to go back to England. I know you weren't sure if you should, but I want you to know that I did it because I thought…" Hogan faltered, suddenly uncertain with his words. "I mean, I didn't want you to think that you owed me any…" More awkwardness, from a man who made a career out of smooth talking in almost any situation. "I know you think you can do more from here. But staying alive has to count for something, too, and the chances of that happening if you're in England are a lot bigger than they are if you hang around with me. I want you to know that you're still free to go; I won't hold it against you if you decide to take me up on that in the future."

Newkirk straightened up and moved away from the radio desk, taking the time to get his feelings in order. He finally turned back to the Colonel, giving Hogan a long, thoughtful look. "It's a rare thing to find an officer worthy of his rank, sir, and even rarer to find one willing to put it all on the line for his men. The way I see it, since I'm in this whole bloody mess until it's over, I may as well be here with you instead of going back and risk getting some uptight desk officer who hasn't a clue how to run a war."

Hogan listened pensively, and now gave Newkirk a direct look. "Is that worth taking a chance on being shot as a spy?" he asked softly.

"It is, sir," Newkirk replied quietly. "Hitler overran most of the continent with his politics and his _blitzkrieg_, and he made a hell of a run at England along the way. I don't have to tell you how close he came to winning there as well." Newkirk shook his head slowly. "I can't go back to London and sit this out, sir, not so long as there's something I can do about it.

"Tristan's gone back to do his part, Colonel, and I'm doing mine by staying here. We talked about it before he left, and we both agree that we're doing the right thing. Hitler has to be stopped, else one day we might wake up to the sound of jackboots doing the goosestep through Picadilly, and seeing that damned red and black _Blutfahne_ hanging in front of Parliament instead of the Union Jack." Newkirk paused and took a deep breath. "I want my sisters to be able to walk down the street without worrying about being bothered by arrogant sods wearing this—" He turned to the clothing rack and yanked out a Gestapo uniform, giving it a look of hatred and loathing before flinging it away. "And I don't want my Nan taken somewhere and shot because she's too old to work in a forced labor camp."

Newkirk looked back at Hogan, again catching the American's eyes with his own. "If that means I stay and take the chance of being shot as a spy, Colonel, so be it."

Hogan let all of this sink in before he answered. Finally, he said quietly, "You do your family proud, Newkirk." Then he added, "And me, too." Not willing to get trapped in the emotional charge of his admission, Hogan turned toward the ladder. "Close up for me, would you? I'm going to get some sleep; don't know how I managed to stay awake half the night already."

Newkirk moved behind the radio desk, absently picking up the blanket that had slid to the floor unnoticed by Hogan when he'd awakened to find Newkirk had returned. _I know how you managed, gov'nor: by sleeping the other half_. He smiled as he folded the blanket and put it on the nearby cot. "Righto, gov'nor," he said aloud, happy to rein in his emotions after unexpectedly laying his soul bare the way he had just done.

Hogan put his foot on the bottom rung of the ladder, then took a long look at Newkirk. "You know, Newkirk—" he started. He stopped, unable to express his jumbled thoughts. Newkirk looked at Hogan expectantly. Hogan shook his head and said something totally off-track instead. "Uh—well, now that you're back…"

"Yes, gov'nor?"

Hogan smiled, a gentle, lopsided smile that spoke of his fondness for the Corporal before him, yet still lightly teasing and somehow self-deprecating all at the same time. "Can I have my drumsticks back?"

Newkirk stared for a moment, caught off-guard by Hogan's question. How the Colonel had found out about that particular memento he'd intended to take home with him, he didn't know. "I think I could arrange that... on two conditions."

Hogan cocked his head and furrowed his brow. "What would those be?" he asked.

"Well, first, that you don't forget you promised my brother you'd do _Anvil Chorus_ for him again." Newkirk grinned. "And second, that you don't let so much dust gather on them in the future. Tris isn't the only one that wants to hear you play."

Hogan paused. While he loved playing the drums, and used to do it as often as possible when he was back home, since he had come to Germany, his time at the skins had been limited, by his own choice as well as by circumstances. Hogan got lost in himself when he was playing, and that kind of soul-baring came hard to the Colonel, especially since he knew that he had to watch every move he made when in the vicinity of the Germans, and in front of his men, who looked to him for stability, not emotion. His session the other night had been a release, but it wasn't one he was about to repeat any time soon. Not in front of his men, in any case.

But a promise was a promise. "I'll have the song ready to go for him when we all get back. Unless you expect me to bring the drum kit down into the tunnel to play for him over the radio."

Newkirk glanced around the central hub of the tunnel system and shook his head. "No, sir. The acoustics down here are bloody awful."

"I'll leave the details to you, then," Hogan said with a small smile. He looked Newkirk right in the eye as he again readied himself to head upstairs. "I'll see you in the morning," he said, his eyes intense with unspoken words.

"All right, gov'nor." Newkirk took a seat at the desk and began to turn the radio equipment off for the night. _I suppose I really didn't expect an answer on the rest of it. That just means things are back to normal, then._ "Best you get some sleep so you can talk Klink out of givin' me the entire thirty days in the cooler for my 'attempted escape.'"

Hogan snorted as he climbed up toward the barracks. "Who says I want to do _that_? I was looking forward to some peace once you were gone—if you're in the cooler, there's one less thing I need to worry about for a month!" And he hopped up into the common room and disappeared.

Newkirk laughed softly as he flipped off the last switches and turned off the electric light. _Yes, gov'nor, things are **definitely** back to normal_.


End file.
